#vaemond and the velaryons? wheres their justice?

[whateverthought]

I think I would have enjoyed Rhaenyra more if they had kept her mean. The second you make a character a Saint, I immediately despise them

[novaursa]

Where Dragons Dare (3/3)

- Summary: Years later, Vaemond Velaryon petitions for his rightful claim to Driftmark. And a broken family must mend wounds that were inflicted long ago.

- Pairing: male!targ reader/Alicent Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is twin brother of Rhaenyra and is bonded with a dragon. If you want to read more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 7 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @literaturedog

- A/N: this was requested by @witch-of-letters. I hope you enjoy this conclusion to the story. 🙂

- Previous chapter: 2

- Bonus part: Lost Chapters

You sit beside Alicent in your private chambers, the golden light of the late afternoon filtering through the high windows of the Red Keep. The day had been long, burdened by the weight of ruling in your father’s stead, and yet the discussion you’re having with your wife weighs heavier still. Rhaenyra’s impending visit to King’s Landing brings back memories—some bittersweet, some festering like old wounds—and it’s all been cast into sharper focus by Corlys Velaryon’s grievous injury. Now, with Vaemond Velaryon’s petition to claim Driftmark, the political storm brewing could tear apart the fragile peace you've fought to maintain.

Alicent’s eyes are fixed on you, concern mixed with resolve in those familiar dark depths. She’s changed over the years, just as you have; she’s no longer the uncertain girl manipulated by her father, but a woman of keen insight and strength—your equal and partner in every sense.

“It’s clear why Vaemond is pressing his claim,” she says quietly, her voice laced with tension. “He isn’t wrong to seek what he believes is his by rights. Driftmark belongs to the Velaryons, and the boys… well, it’s plain they’re not Laenor’s blood.”

Your eyes snap to hers, a flicker of warning there. “You shouldn’t speak of such things aloud, Alicent. Not with the walls of the Red Keep so eager to whisper.”

“It’s true, Y/N,” she replies firmly, her gaze unyielding. “Everyone knows it, even if they pretend not to. Viserys decreed them legitimate, but we all see the truth. The danger is in the pretense, in clinging to a lie for the sake of peace. But what peace is this, really? Vaemond’s words hold merit. Driftmark’s true heirs are being passed over for a fabricated legacy.”

A heavy silence hangs between you, the air thick with unspoken tensions that have lingered since the day of Laena’s funeral. Your thoughts drift, unbidden, to that dreadful night when everything unraveled—when Aemond claimed Vhagar and lost his eye for it. The memory of his pained screams still haunts you, a knife twisting in your heart each time you recall it. He bore it bravely, far braver than you expected from a boy his age, but the scars left behind were not just physical.

You let out a weary sigh, leaning back against the cushioned seat as your gaze falls to the intricate patterns on the stone floor. “I demanded justice for Aemond,” you murmur, bitterness seeping into your tone. “Luke should’ve been punished, but Father protected Rhaenyra as he always does. Her children are his blind spot, even now. She never truly acknowledged her son’s fault, not really, and from that moment on… everything between us was strained. We’re twins, yet she became a stranger after that day.”

Alicent’s fingers brush against yours, a silent comfort in her touch. “I’ve never forgotten what happened. I never will. It’s easy for Rhaenyra to speak of unity and family, but the truth is her actions always served her ambitions. She’s isolated herself on Dragonstone with Daemon, as if that distance absolves her from the mess she’s left behind.”

Your frown deepens. You love your sister, you do—but those love-blind affections have long been clouded by bitter reality. The bond you once shared feels frayed, worn thin by years of conflict and choices that placed her interests above everything else. Her sons—Jace, Luke, and little Joffrey—hold a place in your heart, but even that affection is tainted by the lies everyone is forced to maintain. You cannot forget how easily your own pleas for justice were disregarded, how Viserys himself demanded silence when you spoke of the truth.

“Viserys is clinging to a fantasy,” you say after a moment, your voice hard. “He wants to die believing that everything he’s built will remain intact, that the realm will carry on in harmony with Rhaenyra and her children. But there’s rot beneath the surface, and the realm won’t turn a blind eye forever.”

Alicent watches you carefully, her expression unreadable for a moment before softening. “It’s not only you who sees it. The lords whisper, the court shifts uneasily. And now Vaemond has brought that truth into the open, no longer content to pretend. The coming days will test the loyalty of those who have only remained silent out of fear.”

A silence falls once more, only broken by the distant cries of gulls and the muffled sounds of the capital below. The sun has dipped lower in the sky, casting sundown shadows across the room, but you can’t bring yourself to end this conversation, not when it feels as though so much is at stake.

“I don’t know what Viserys will do when Rhaenyra arrives,” you admit quietly. “He’s always favored her, always turned a blind eye when it comes to her and her children. If he sides with her again, if he dismisses Vaemond… it will spark something we may not be able to contain.”

Alicent shifts closer, her hand finding yours once more. “Then we must be ready for what comes. You are Prince Regent, Y/N. You have the authority to act, to protect the realm as you see fit. I know where my loyalties lie.”

You look at her, seeing the determination in her eyes, the quiet devotion that’s never wavered. She’s your wife, the mother of your children, and the one person who has stood beside you through all of it. The bitterness that lingers between you and Rhaenyra doesn’t extend here; with Alicent, there’s no pretense, no lies hidden behind strained smiles.

As night finally creeps over the capital, the light outside fading into a deep indigo, the two of you remain locked in conversation. You speak of the future, of what may come when Rhaenyra and Daemon set foot in the Red Keep, of the lines that may be drawn in the sand.

The fire crackles softly in the hearth as the night deepens, emitting warm flickers of light across your private chambers. The weight of the day’s troubles has lessened, replaced by the comfort of Alicent’s presence. The two of you remain close, sharing lingering touches and quiet words. As you move behind her, your hands begin to wander, gliding across the soft fabric of her gown. You hold her close, feeling the gentle rise and fall of her breath beneath your fingertips. Your lips brush against her ear as you murmur, “I think I must confess my sins before the gods, though I fear they are far too many.”

Alicent turns her head slightly, raising an eyebrow at your words. There’s a moment where she appears to take your confession seriously, but then her expression shifts, lips twitching as she fails to suppress a laugh. “That was horrible,” she chuckles, shaking her head, her laughter lightening the mood.

You grin, enjoying the way her laughter sounds, how it brightens the shadows of the evening. “Perhaps, but I’m not sure the gods would easily forgive me if they knew the true extent of my sins,” you jest, voice low and teasing as your hands tighten around her waist.

Her laughter softens into something more intimate as she turns fully toward you, her gaze lingering on your lips before she closes the distance. The kiss is slow at first, a familiar dance of lips and breath, but it quickly deepens as passion flares between you. Her fingers thread through your hair, pulling you closer, and the world outside the chambers fades away. It’s just the two of you—no titles, no crowns, only the warmth of her body pressed against yours.

In the growing heat of the moment, clothing becomes a hindrance, something to be discarded in favor of the closeness you both crave. Your hands make quick work of her gown, letting it slip from her shoulders, pooling at her feet. She helps you shed your attire just as quickly until bare skin meets bare skin. There’s a moment of silence, the air thick with anticipation, before Alicent pushes you back onto the bed with a determined glint in her eye.

You watch as she climbs atop you, her every movement measured and deliberate. The sight of her like this—confident and in control—ignites something in you, a hunger that’s always been there but now roars to life. “You look like a queen,” you whisper, voice husky, your hands finding her hips as she guides you into her. “My heart, my love.”

Alicent gasps softly, closing her eyes as she sinks onto you, the slow, steady rhythm she sets sending shivers through you both. The pleasure builds gradually, each movement deliberate and teasing. You can see the mischief in her eyes as she reaches for a nearby candle, tipping it just enough to let drops of warm wax fall onto your chest. The heat is a sharp contrast against your skin, but it only spurs your desire further.

“To raise the dragon with fire,” she whispers, her voice low and filled with a playful edge as the wax continues to drip.

You chuckle darkly, gripping her hips more firmly as you thrust upward. “The dragon is already raised, my love.” Your words send a thrill through her, and the pace quickens as she moves above you, her moans mingling with your own.

The candles forgotten, they clatter to the floor as her movements become more intense, both of you teetering on the edge of release. But just as you feel yourself ready to fall over that precipice, Alicent suddenly stops, lifting herself away from you. The absence leaves you throbbing with frustration, your desire only heightened by the way she watches you, a knowing smile curving her lips.

“What are you doing?” you groan, the teasing ache almost too much to bear.

She leans down, capturing your lips in a slow, sensual kiss that only stokes the fire in your blood. “Patience, my love,” she whispers against your lips, her voice dripping with teasing amusement. But patience has never been your strong suit, not when it comes to her.

With a growl of determination, you flip her beneath you, your body pressing hers into the soft sheets. You position her on her stomach, her back arched as you take hold of her hips and guide yourself back into her. She moans your name, the sound sending a rush of satisfaction through you as you begin to move with renewed urgency, your rhythm rough and intense, driven by the need to claim her fully.

Alicent’s fingers clutch at the sheets as each thrust draws another cry of pleasure from her lips. You lean down, your mouth brushing against her ear as you whisper praises between ragged breaths, telling her how beautiful she is, how perfect, how she belongs to you as much as you belong to her. The words seem to drive her wild, her voice trembling as she reaches for that peak again.

The pace grows frantic as you both reach the edge together, your bodies locked in perfect harmony. With one final thrust, you feel the tension snap, sending you both spiraling into a shared high that leaves you breathless, your minds lost in the euphoria of your union.

When the last waves of pleasure fade, you collapse beside her, gathering her into your arms as you both catch your breath. The night is quiet now, only the distant hum of the city outside breaking the stillness. You press a kiss to her temple, your heart still pounding in your chest.

For now, in this moment, everything else can wait.

The corridors of the Red Keep echo softly with your footfalls as you walk side by side with your eldest son, Aegon. The council meeting had been more taxing than usual, and you could see the strain in the boy’s eyes, though he hides it behind a practiced indifference. You glance at him, noting how he chews the inside of his cheek—a habit he’s never quite grown out of.

“Father, I—” Aegon starts, his voice tense, betraying the anxiety that simmers beneath his confident exterior. “I didn’t mean to sound insolent when I questioned Lord Lyman, I just—”

You stop, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. “You did well, Aegon,” you say, cutting through his worry. “There was no fault in what you said. You spoke with strength and clarity, and you asked the right questions. We must be clear in our decisions, especially when others are too hesitant to say what needs to be said.”

Aegon blinks, the tension easing from his brow. He nods slowly, his expression softening. “Thank you, Father.” His voice is quieter now, laced with gratitude, and as the two of you continue walking, his steps seem lighter. The bond between you is often tested by his impulsiveness and uncertainty, but moments like this remind you that beneath the bravado, Aegon seeks your approval, your guidance.

You approach the sunroom, where a midday meal awaits. The bright sunlight streams through the windows, bathing the space in warmth. Already seated are Aemond, Helaena, and Daeron, each engaged in their own conversations. Helaena’s face lights up the moment she sees you, her smile wide and genuine.

“Father! I finished my collection,” she announces excitedly, almost bouncing in her seat. Her gaze sparkles with the kind of innocent joy you’ve always cherished in her.

You smile back, a rare softness in your eyes. “That’s wonderful, Helaena. I promise I’ll come by later and see it. I’m sure it’s even more impressive than the last one.”

She beams at your words, her contentment visible, before returning her focus to the small assortment of insect jars she’s arranged on the table.

Aemond and Daeron, standing nearby, approach you as well. Aemond, ever the observant one, nods in greeting. “Father, it seems preparations for tonight’s feast are nearly complete. Mother mentioned that Rhaenyra’s arrival will likely set tongues wagging.” His tone is measured, hiding a touch of wariness behind his composed demeanor.

“Let them wag,” Daeron adds with a grin, his youthful energy apparent. “We’ll hold our own, as we always do.”

You can’t help but feel a sense of pride swell in your chest at how they’ve grown—each of them distinct in temperament, but unified by the bonds of family. “We will,” you agree, placing a reassuring hand on Daeron’s shoulder.

Before the conversation can continue, the door to the sunroom opens, and Alicent steps inside. Her eyes sweep across the room before settling on you. A subtle crease forms between her brows as she notices the slight grimace on your face—a telltale sign of discomfort you’ve never been able to fully mask from her. She moves toward you, concern evident in her expression.

“Y/N, is your leg bothering you again?” she asks, her voice laced with worry. 

Before you can answer, Helaena, ever attuned to things others overlook, speaks up from her seat. “It’s the weather. The clouds are moving in. His leg hurts when the air changes like that.”

Alicent’s alarm deepens. “Should I summon Grand Maester Orwyle to examine it? Perhaps there’s something he can do.”

You shake your head, offering her a comforting smile. “It’s nothing to worry over, Alicent. Just an old pain from that fall off Dallax years ago. It comes and goes with the weather, as Helaena said. I’ll be fine.”

Though she nods, you can see that she’s not fully reassured, her fingers brushing lightly against your arm, a silent expression of her lingering concern.

The moment is broken by a knock at the door, and one of the guards steps inside, bowing slightly. “Your Grace, the Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon have arrived with their children. Princess Rhaenys and Lord Vaemond are with them as well.”

A heavy sigh escapes you, the weight of the situation pressing down like an iron mantle. “Of course they have,” you mutter under your breath, straightening your posture. Turning back to Alicent, you catch her worried gaze, knowing she senses the unease that tightens in your chest. This reunion has all the makings of a volatile confrontation, and the old wounds that have never fully healed threaten to bleed anew.

“I must go and welcome them,” you say, your voice measured but weary. The obligations of duty pull you forward, even when your heart longs to stay here with your family in this fleeting moment of peace.

Alicent steps closer, her fingers brushing against your sleeve in a silent gesture of support. “We’ll be by your side.”

You nod, grateful for her presence, and glance back at your children, who watch you with varying degrees of concern and curiosity. Even now, they look to you for strength, for guidance, and you cannot fail them. Not today. Not ever.

With one last glance at the warm sunlit room—a sanctuary from the political storm outside—you prepare yourself for the inevitable tension that awaits in the great hall. The time for peace and warmth has passed; now, you must step back into the fray.

The throne room is heavy with the weight of history, the distant clang of armor and murmured whispers echoing through the vast chamber. You stand at the base of the Iron Throne, the twisted swords looming behind you like the sharp shadows of past decisions. This place has always felt suffocating—the power it represents, the burden it imposes—but today, it seems even more so. The air is filled with anticipation, with all the words left unspoken over the years, words that now hover like ghosts between you and your sister.

The grand doors creak open, and in walks Rhaenyra, flanked by Daemon and her children. The entourage is impressive in its own right. But your eyes meet Rhaenyra’s first, a mixture of affection and lingering resentment flickering in her gaze. Daemon’s expression is inscrutable as ever, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips, as if he’s already prepared for whatever battle this day might bring.

“Brother,” Rhaenyra greets, her voice formal but laced with a warmth she struggles to fully suppress. The distance between you isn’t just measured by the steps she takes toward you but by the years of strained silences and fractured trust. “It’s been too long.”

“Too long indeed,” you reply, giving her a nod. “Though I wish it were under different circumstances.”

She glances back at her children—Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey—who linger closer to their stepfather. It’s a small, subtle act, but one that doesn’t escape your notice. The lines have already been drawn, loyalties established, even within family. Your eyes shift momentarily to Lucerys, who shifts uncomfortably under your gaze. The memory of that night, when Aemond lost his eye, still lingers in the corners of your mind like a festering wound.

Daemon steps forward, offering you a mocking half-bow. “Prince Regent,” he drawls, the title rolling off his tongue with a hint of amusement. “I trust King’s Landing hasn’t dulled your edge in all this politicking?”

“King’s Landing has taught me that sharper edges are often hidden behind polished words,” you counter, meeting his smirk with one of your own. “But some things remain constant, no matter how much time has passed.”

There’s a flicker of something in Daemon’s eyes—approval, perhaps—but he gives nothing more than a faint nod. The moment stretches as if both of you are waiting for the other to strike first, but the tension is cut by the sound of more footsteps entering the throne room.

Alicent appears, resplendent in her green gown, with Aegon and Aemond trailing just behind her. They take their places beside you, Alicent’s presence a quiet assurance amidst the charged atmosphere. Her eyes briefly meet Rhaenyra’s—a mixture of cordiality and something more guarded passing between them.

Rhaenyra’s gaze shifts back to you, her expression tight. “All this—Vaemond’s petition, this charade in court—is unnecessary. Corlys has already named Luke as his heir. This is nothing more than a farce driven by Vaemond’s ambition and desperation.”

You hold her gaze steadily, the words she speaks true, but there’s a bitterness beneath the surface that neither of you can quite hide. “Rhaenyra, you know as well as I do that perception is as powerful as truth in the eyes of the court. Vaemond’s claims are not without support among those who see blood over words. He’s leveraged the uncertainty surrounding Corlys’s health to rally those who resent the decree Viserys made years ago.”

“Resentment or ambition, it hardly matters,” Rhaenyra counters, her voice hardening. “Luke is Corlys’s chosen heir. This is nothing more than a blatant attempt to undermine our family, to sow discord in favor of personal gain.”

Before you can respond, Aemond’s cool voice cuts through the tension. “And yet, the matter has been brought before the court. The Driftwood Throne is more than just a seat; it represents the stability of our alliances and the power of the Velaryon fleet. Vaemond knows this well.”

Aegon shifts beside his brother, clearly eager to speak, but there’s an undercurrent of caution in his posture. “Let them debate the bloodlines and the claims. It’s all they seem to care about. But it’s our family’s unity that hangs in the balance.”

Alicent’s hand subtly rests on Aegon’s arm, a silent encouragement to temper his words. You can feel her worry radiating beside you, though she remains composed. “We cannot afford to be careless,” she adds, her voice steady. “The lords and ladies of the court are watching closely, each with their own interests at heart. We must tread carefully, especially with those like Vaemond, who are prepared to exploit any perceived weakness.”

Rhaenyra’s expression softens only slightly, the strain of years apart visible in the lines around her eyes. “I don’t want this to tear us further apart, brother. The realm needs stability, not more division. But it feels as though every step I take, every decision I make, is met with suspicion.”

You take a breath, weighing your words carefully. “Rhaenyra, I never wished for distance between us, nor did I want our paths to diverge as they have. But the choices we make carry consequences—sometimes ones we never intend. I want to believe that we can still find a way forward, even with everything that stands between us.”

Daemon’s eyes narrow slightly, watching you with a calculating gaze. He’s never been one to shy away from conflict, but even he seems to recognize that this moment is a delicate one.

Before anything further can be said, Alicent’s attention shifts as she catches sight of movement near the entrance. “It seems our guests have arrived.”

The doors swing open again, and in walk Princess Rhaenys and Lord Vaemond Velaryon, their presence commanding attention. Vaemond’s expression is one of grim determination, while Rhaenys’s gaze remains neutral, though there’s an underlying tension in the way she holds herself.

You sigh inwardly, the weight of what’s to come pressing heavily on your shoulders. “I must welcome them,” you say quietly, though the words feel more like a duty than a choice. 

With a final glance at Alicent and your children, you steel yourself, ready to face whatever storm this day may bring.

The throne room is filled with an air of tension so thick it nearly suffocates, a place where every word and glance carries the weight of the realm’s future. You sit in front of the Iron Throne, flanked by your family—Alicent at your side, with Aegon, Aemond, Helaena, and Daeron standing proudly beside you. Otto stands as a silent sentinel to your left, his expression carefully neutral but his calculating mind undoubtedly working behind those cold eyes.

This is your trial to preside over, not his.

Vaemond Velaryon stands before the court, his expression carved from stone, his voice carrying the authority of a man with righteous conviction. “I speak plainly because this matter is not one of politics, but of truth! The Driftwood Throne is a legacy that cannot be tainted by a lie. Lucerys Velaryon is no true Velaryon. He carries no blood of our house—he is not the son of Laenor Velaryon!”

Murmurs ripple through the gathered lords and ladies, some leaning in, eager to witness the drama unfold. Vaemond’s words are like daggers thrown across the room, aimed directly at Rhaenyra and her children. You can see the steel in her eyes, her lips pressed into a thin line as she holds her composure. Daemon stands beside her, eyes narrowing at the offense, but he remains still, his calculating mind no doubt waiting for the right moment to strike.

You raise a hand to silence the room, your voice calm but firm. “Lord Vaemond, you’ve made your case. But it is not solely yours to decide. Princess Rhaenys, as the wife of Lord Corlys and the one who has stood by his side through every battle and storm, you have the most voice in this matter. Speak now, for the realm listens.”

Rhaenys steps forward, her presence commanding respect. Dressed in the deep blacks and reds of her house, she carries the pride of House Velaryon on her shoulders, yet her expression remains inscrutable. You watch her closely, knowing that her words will determine more than just the fate of Driftmark—they will shape alliances and define loyalties.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she begins, her voice clear and unwavering. “It is true that my lord husband is gravely injured and unable to speak for himself. But before he took ill, he made his wishes clear. He named Lucerys as his heir. My husband’s word is law on Driftmark, and I intend to honor it.”

Vaemond shifts uncomfortably, but remains silent for now.

Rhaenys continues, her gaze moving to Rhaenyra before settling on you. “Furthermore, Princess Rhaenyra has proposed a union—one that would not only preserve the legacy of House Velaryon but strengthen it. She has offered her son, Lucerys, to wed my granddaughter, Rhaena. A match I wholeheartedly support.”

The court stirs at this revelation. You feel the weight of Rhaenys’s decision pressing against your chest. Her words do more than just confirm Lucerys’s claim—they solidify Rhaenyra’s position in this fight. The offer to wed Rhaena to Lucerys would ensure that Driftmark remains in Velaryon hands, through Laena’s trueborn daughter. It’s a maneuver as brilliant as it is decisive. Rhaenys has thrown her support behind Rhaenyra in a way that cannot be easily countered.

You pause, considering the ramifications. Your eyes briefly meet Rhaenyra’s, searching for some sign of what she’s truly feeling beneath her stoic mask. She knows the significance of Rhaenys’s declaration; it’s more than just the inheritance of Driftmark—it’s a public alignment of houses, a strengthening of her line.

Just as you’re about to speak, Vaemond’s voice rises again, sharper now, with barely concealed fury. “This is an insult! A mockery of our house! You may support these... false heirs, but I will not allow Driftmark to be handed over to bastards!”

The word hangs in the air, searing through the room like a brand. A cold silence falls, eyes darting between you and Vaemond. Even Otto’s composed mask slips slightly, his eyes narrowing at the brazenness of Vaemond’s outburst. You feel a ripple of anger stir within you, a flame that you must keep controlled, for it would be too easy to let it consume you here.

Daemon steps forward, his smile a dangerous thing as he drawls, “Say it again, Vaemond. Go on.” His hand rests casually on the hilt of his blade, the invitation clear.

You rise from your seat, your gaze locking onto Vaemond with the weight of a dragon’s stare. The silence that follows is heavy, the tension crackling like lightning in the air. The audacity of his words echoes through the chamber—bastards. A line has been crossed, and everyone knows it.

“Enough,” you command, your voice low but resonant, silencing the whispers that had begun to stir among the lords and ladies. “You forget yourself, Lord Vaemond.”

Vaemond’s face twists with fury, but he stands defiant, unwilling to yield. “Your Grace, I only speak the truth that everyone here knows but dares not voice! Driftmark is the seat of House Velaryon, a house built on blood and salt. That blood should flow true, and Lucerys Velaryon carries none of it! The realm cannot be governed by lies and pretenses.”

You take a step forward, your presence a shadow over the defiant lord. “You speak of truth, but your truth is tainted by ambition and grievance. Driftmark’s future is a matter for Lord Corlys’s bloodline, and it has been decided by the one who holds that legacy. Princess Rhaenys has spoken clearly on her husband’s wishes and on the betrothal that will secure Driftmark’s future.”

Rhaenys’s head lifts, her expression one of quiet strength. It is a rare thing for the ‘Queen Who Never Was’ to publicly choose a side so explicitly, and in doing so, she has thrown the full weight of House Velaryon behind Rhaenyra and her children.

But Vaemond is not done. His eyes blaze with a dangerous mix of pride and desperation. “And you would have us swallow this pretense, this farce? I will not see my house’s name sullied for the sake of politics!”

Rhaenyra’s expression is a careful mask, but you know her well enough to see the tension coiled beneath the surface. Her sons stand rigid, their youth apparent in how they strain to keep composed, particularly Lucerys, whose gaze keeps darting toward you as if searching for some semblance of reassurance. You can feel Alicent’s eyes on you as well, a silent plea for this matter to end without bloodshed.

You straighten, feeling the weight of the crown’s authority settle around your shoulders. “This is not about what you will or will not see, Lord Vaemond. The decision is not yours to make.” You look to the gathered lords and ladies, letting your words carry across the room. “House Velaryon’s seat belongs to Lucerys Velaryon, named by Lord Corlys and affirmed by his lady wife. This court upholds that decision.”

There’s a murmur of agreement among some of the gathered lords, though others shift uncomfortably, clearly aligning themselves more with Vaemond’s view, whether they dare voice it or not. Vaemond’s defiance hardens into something bitter, his eyes flicking briefly toward Daemon, who remains a silent sentinel, the edge of his smile dangerous.

“Lucerys Velaryon is not a true Velaryon,” Vaemond growls, his voice rising with barely-contained rage. “He is—”

“Say it,” Daemon’s voice slices through the air like a dagger, his smile cold, daring Vaemond to cross that final line for the last time.

For a moment, it looks as if Vaemond might take the bait, the word trembling on his lips, but the air is thick with unspoken threats. You can see the flicker of fear in his eyes, a recognition that his next words could cost him more than just this claim. He hesitates, but the anger does not fade.

“The truth is plain,” Vaemond finally says, quieter now but no less venomous. “You can wrap it in silks and gold, but it remains a lie.”

Your patience wears thin. “Your passion is noted, Lord Vaemond, but you would do well to remember where you stand and who you address.” You glance at Rhaenyra, who remains poised despite the insults cast her way, then back at Vaemond. “This court has rendered its judgment. The matter is settled.”

The finality in your tone leaves no room for further argument. Vaemond clenches his jaw, his fists trembling at his sides, but he knows he’s lost. His pride is wounded, and though he has supporters among the court, none will openly defy the crown’s decision. He gives you a look filled with loathing, and for a heartbeat, you think he might lash out.

Before anything can escalate, Alicent steps forward, her presence bringing a calming effect, if only briefly. “This matter is closed,” she says with cool authority, echoing your decree. “The realm must look forward, not cling to the past.”

You nod, turning your attention back to the court. “The feast tonight will be held in honor of family and unity. I expect all to attend.” You emphasize the word family, knowing it holds different meanings for those gathered. Your gaze lingers on Rhaenyra and her children, then back to Vaemond, whose seething gaze is impossible to ignore.

Vaemond’s face is twisted with barely-restrained fury, but he bows stiffly. “As you command, Your Grace.”

The lords and ladies begin to disperse, the unrest easing as conversations shift to safer topics. But the undercurrents of unease remain. Alliances have been made clearer, but new fissures have formed as well.

As the court disperses, you catch Rhaenyra’s gaze. There’s a gratitude there, mingled with sadness, a recognition of the unspoken rift that still lies between you. “Thank you, brother,” she says softly when she approaches, her voice tinged with a mixture of relief and weariness.

You nod, offering a small, strained smile. “For now, let us put aside the politics and remember that we are family.”

Rhaenyra inclines her head, and though the words are spoken with good intent, there’s a heaviness that neither of you can ignore. The politics of blood, inheritance, and loyalty remain like shadows between you.

As Rhaenyra and Daemon leave the throne room with their children, you feel Alicent’s hand lightly rest on your arm. “You did well,” she says softly, her gaze searching yours for any trace of what you’re truly feeling.

You give a faint nod, but the weariness of the day weighs heavily on your mind. “Perhaps. But this is only the beginning. There are storms yet to come.”

Alicent’s eyes flicker with concern, but she remains composed. “Then we will face them together, as we always have.”

With that, you steel yourself for the next gathering—the feast, where smiles will hide sharpened knives and toasts will be laced with hidden meanings.

The Great Hall is aglow with the warmth of countless candles, their light reflecting off the polished silver goblets and rich tapestries lining the walls. The air is thick with the aromas of roasted meats, spiced wine, and the subtle sweetness of honeyed fruits. At the head of the table, King Viserys sits, smiling broadly, the years of weariness lifted, if only for tonight. His eyes, though dulled by age and illness, sparkle with the joy of seeing his family gathered together—just as he has always dreamed.

You sit to his right, with Alicent beside you, her presence a quiet, steadying force. Your children—Aegon, Aemond, Helaena, and Daeron—are arranged around you, each reflecting the shared Targaryen and Hightower legacies. Across the table, Rhaenyra sits with Daemon, their children—Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey, Baela, and Rhaena—filling the seats beside them. For once, the invisible line that has divided you all seems to blur, softened by the promise of reconciliation that hangs in the air.

Viserys raises his goblet, his voice trembling but rich with emotion. “To family,” he declares, looking first at you, then at Rhaenyra, his gaze lingering with unspoken hope. “We have all weathered many storms, but tonight, let us put aside our differences and remember the ties that bind us. Blood is what unites us, and that is stronger than any quarrel.”

You lift your goblet, meeting Rhaenyra’s gaze from across the table. There’s a flicker of warmth in her eyes, a reflection of the shared memories from when you were younger—before ambition and politics built walls between you. “To family,” you echo, letting your voice carry across the hall.

“To family,” Rhaenyra agrees, her voice softer, but sincere. The tension that usually clings to her words is absent, replaced by a genuine desire to find common ground. Daemon follows suit with a small nod, raising his goblet, though his eyes never lose their sharpness.

The others join in the toast, and for the first time in a long while, there’s a shared sense of unity at the table. The feast begins, and conversation flows more easily than you had expected. Laughter echoes, and even some of the past hurts seem to fade as old stories are shared, tales from when you and Rhaenyra were children, and the world was simpler.

Aegon, emboldened by the good cheer, leans toward Jacaerys with a grin. “So, cousin, when do we finally see if your swordplay has improved? Or are you still hiding behind the idea of ‘diplomacy’?” There’s a teasing lilt to his words, but it’s free of malice.

Jacaerys chuckles, accepting the challenge with grace. “Any time you wish, Aegon. Perhaps tomorrow, in the yard? I could use the exercise.”

Aegon laughs, and for once, it’s genuine. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Nearby, Helaena leans close to Rhaena, showing her a small, delicate beetle she’s been keeping. “This one’s new. I found it in the gardens this morning. It’s beautiful, don’t you think?”

Rhaena’s face lights up with interest. “It is! You’ll have to show me where you find them. Perhaps we can look together tomorrow?”

Aemond, ever observant, listens as Daemon regales Daeron with stories of old Valyria, his tone as dramatic as ever. “You mustn’t rely only on strength, young prince,” Daemon advises with a sly smile. “There’s more power in a sharp mind than a sharp blade, though it’s best to wield both.”

As the night progresses, the atmosphere becomes lighter, laughter filling the hall. You notice Rhaenyra watching you, and when your eyes meet, she offers a tentative smile. There’s a pause, a moment where neither of you speaks, but the silence is full of unspoken words—regret, apology, and perhaps most importantly, a desire to heal what’s been broken.

“Brother,” she finally says, her voice tinged with emotion. “I’ve missed this—us, being together. I know there have been… difficulties, but I hope we can start anew.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the sincerity in her words. The distance between you hasn’t been easy, and the weight of your past grievances still lingers, but you find yourself nodding. “I’ve missed it too, Rhaenyra. We’ve both made mistakes, but we’re stronger together. Let’s try to move forward—for our family, for our father.”

Viserys beams at this exchange, his hand trembling as he lifts it to wipe away a tear. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. For all of us to be united, to leave behind the bitterness of the past.”

Alicent watches this with a soft smile, her hand slipping into yours beneath the table. “This is what he’s longed for,” she whispers. “You’ve given him peace, if only for tonight.”

As the meal continues, the tension that once plagued these gatherings begins to dissipate. Rhaenyra and Alicent exchange kind words, complimenting each other’s children. Daemon, though still carrying his usual edge, seems content to keep his barbs light, focusing more on keeping the mood lifted than on stirring the pot. Even Aemond, usually so guarded, appears more at ease, his exchanges with Jacaerys and Lucerys devoid of the usual undercurrents of rivalry.

At one point, Rhaenyra lifts her goblet again, a more private toast this time. “To new beginnings,” she says, looking at you with hope.

You smile, raising your own goblet in kind. “To new beginnings.”

The night stretches on, and for once, it feels as though the past might truly be put behind you. The bonds of family, strained though they’ve been, begin to mend. The ghosts of old wounds fade into the background as laughter, warmth, and shared memories take center stage.

Viserys, exhausted but happy, leans back in his chair, his hand resting on yours as he closes his eyes, a contented smile on his lips. “This… this is how it should always be,” he murmurs.

And for that night, at least, it is. Family, love, and unity win out, and the weight of the crown feels a little lighter.

From the Chronicles of King Y/N Targaryen I, The Reign of the Unified Flame

From “Fire and Blood: A History of House Targaryen” by Archmaester Melys:

Upon the passing of King Viserys I in the year 129 AC, the realm held its breath, fearing that the simmering tensions within House Targaryen would ignite into the civil war prophesied by many. But where the histories might have diverged into bloodshed and ruin, they instead tell a tale of unity and wise rule under King Y/N Targaryen, the Heir of Dragonstone, who ascended the Iron Throne as Y/N I, known to later generations as “Y/N the Peacemaker” and “The King of Balance.”

Though many lords whispered of conflict, it was King Y/N’s first decree that set the tone for his reign. Gathering his family—Queen Alicent, Princess Rhaenyra, and their respective children—he held council not in the Red Keep, but atop Dragonstone, the ancient seat of House Targaryen. There, in the shadow of their ancestors and the elder dragons, they swore an oath of unity before gods and men. It is said that Prince Daemon himself, ever the rogue, was the first to lay down his blade, pledging his loyalty to his nephew. With that, the seeds of war were quelled, and the Dance of Dragons was averted.

High Speton Eustace credits King Y/N’s wisdom and firm hand for this peace, stating, “His Majesty’s reign was marked by clarity of vision and an understanding that compromise is often the sharpest weapon.” Mushroom, in his typically bawdy accounts, attributes the peace to the deep affection between the King and Queen Alicent, jesting that, “It was her gentle whispers at night and not the threats of swords that kept the realm from tearing itself apart.”

Under King Y/N’s rule, Westeros saw another golden era of peace and prosperity. His approach to governance combined the fiery decisiveness of his Targaryen blood with a measured balance that many compared to his mother, Queen Aemma Arryn. The king’s court was diverse and inclusive; Princess Rhaenyra was granted full authority over the small council alongside her brother, with the Velaryons remaining staunch allies after the successful betrothal of Lucerys Velaryon to Rhaena Targaryen. Driftmark’s legacy was secured without further bloodshed, ensuring that the sea lanes of Westeros remained open and secure.

King Y/N’s family played a crucial role in his reign. His children with Queen Alicent grew into respected figures in their own right. Aegon, though restless in his youth, became a trusted commander, leading the royal navy in expeditions to Essos that solidified trade routes. Aemond, despite the loss of his eye, was known as “The Iron Shield,” a prince famed for his discipline and loyalty, who often served as Hand of the King when his father took to Dragonstone for respite. Helaena’s prophecies, often dismissed in earlier years, became valued by the court, guiding many decisions with a wisdom that bordered on the mystical. Daeron, the youngest, was known as the people’s prince, a bridge between nobility and common folk, fostering goodwill in the Reach and beyond.

The reign of King Y/N I was not without its trials. The Ironborn rose in rebellion more than once, but swift action by Aemond and Daemon in a rare alliance quickly subdued the threat. The Riverlands also saw unrest when Lord Grover Tully’s ambitions threatened to spill into open conflict, but the King’s deft diplomacy resolved the dispute before it could escalate.

Even so, the unity within House Targaryen remained the cornerstone of Y/N’s reign. It is said that Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent, once rivals after their marriages, grew back into a friendship they shared in their youth, sharing their roles as matriarchs to an ever-growing brood of dragonlords. Mushroom—never one to miss an opportunity for scandal—claims that their peace was ensured by shared interests in a secretive cabal of noblewomen, but wiser heads discount this as the jester’s usual mischief.

King Y/N’s dragons also played a vital role in securing his legacy. His bond with Dallax, the Night Fury, became legendary. Dallax, with his black scales and green eyes, was a fearsome sight in battle, but it was his presence at royal negotiations that often quelled rebellious lords before blood could be spilled. The dragon’s reputation as both guardian and enforcer of the realm added to the mystique of King Y/N’s rule. 

In 143 AC, King Y/N I presided over the Grand Council at Harrenhal, where matters of succession and law were codified, ensuring stability for generations to come. It was there that his wisdom was most evident; by balancing the interests of all regions and houses, he secured peace in the realm without resorting to brute force. When the Maester's Conclave reviewed the royal lineage in later years, it was agreed by many that King Y/N’s efforts had preserved not just the peace but the very legacy of House Targaryen.

Mushroom’s final words on the reign of King Y/N are perhaps the most fitting. “In an age where dragons danced upon the edge of war, it took not just a dragonrider, but a man who saw the value in holding back the flame, to keep the realm whole. Where others would have chosen fire and blood, he chose balance, and in doing so, left behind a reign that many would envy.”

King Y/N Targaryen I passed away in the year 150 AC, leaving behind a legacy of unity, prosperity, and a realm spared the horrors of civil war. His children carried forth his wisdom, and under their guidance, Westeros thrived in an era known as the “Second Golden Age.” And thus, the realm’s history turned, not on a dance of dragons, but on a single king’s steadfast resolve to keep his family—and his realm—united.

[lizzyiii]

His Lady Love (3)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

word count | 3.7k words

summary | calm before the storm. the queen forces you to go to the targaryen-hightower supper where you finally sit face to face with aemond, (whilst getting interrogated by prince daemon as well.)

tags | reader is just here for the targ drama tbh, fluff, small angst/but reader comforts,

note | I just realised that both rebekah and reader fall for boys that they technically watched grow up (not really, but really tho, also would you consider this pedophilic, since rebekah and reader had mere platonic feelings, while marcel and aemond were already obsessed)

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨��𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 — 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 — 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

It had been a moon's turn since your return, and Aemond had taken to shadowing you through the sunlit halls of the Keep, his presence felt like a specter lurking just out of reach. Instead of confronting you directly, he observed, his violet gaze lingering on you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. Meanwhile, the currents of Targaryen drama began to stir anew, this time not over the succession of the Iron Throne, but over the shores of Driftmark and the title of the Lord of Tides.

Lord Vaemond Velaryon was set to make his case, summoned to the court to argue vehemently against Lucerys Velaryon’s claim to the ancestral seat, while the King deliberated on who would wear the mantle of the next successor.

Your mind, however, was torn asunder by the weight of the situation. It was as clear as the midday sun that Rhaenyra's three sons bore the mark of bastardy, the truth hanging in the air like a bitter fog. Yet, despite their dark hair and brown eyes, they were still Princess Rhaenrya's sons, making them true Targaryens, and as long as the crown acknowledged their legitimacy, they had every right to embrace their heritage.

Yet, the specter of justice loomed heavily. They bore no true Valaryon blood in their veins, a fact that rendered their claim to Driftmark similarly disquieting. If they were to inherit such a coveted title, it would be naught but a dagger to the heart of the Velaryon legacy, erasing centuries of honor and heritage in one fell swoop.

But who were you to cast judgment on the matter? You were, after all, a bastard yourself in your own right. With no discernible features from either your father or your mother, the only tether to the Mikaelson name was the multitude of witnesses who could attest to your mother birthing you into this world.

Soon enough, the matter erupted into a grand spectacle, as the Queen had relayed with a glint of grim madness in her eye. Viserys, frail and near death, had heaved himself from his sickbed, a ghost of his former self, to proclaim the legitimacy of his grandsons. That proclamation, laden with tension and bitter truths, secured their claim to Driftmark—an act of desperation that would surely echo through the halls of history. It was not long after this madness that the Prince, Daemon Targaryen, wielded his fury like a sword, severing Vaemond Velaryon's head from his shoulders for daring to call Rhaenyra a whore.

To your great displeasure, Queen Alicent had insisted your presence at the supper of Targaryen and Hightower—a feast destined to spiral into a night of revelry or ruin, most likely the latter. You preferred the shadows, where the light of their self-destructive feud would not touch you, allowing you to observe from afar rather than be ensnared in their political webs. Yet, refusal was a luxury you could not afford.

As the time of the supper approached, you dedicated a substantial time deliberating over your choice of attire. The vibrant hues of black and green were decidedly unfit, signifying discord and allegiances you wished to avoid at all costs. Instead, you selected a gown of soft pink silk, its flowing fabric draping elegantly over your form, a symbol of innocence amidst the clamor of tensions. You wove your hair into intricate braids interspersed with delicate pearls that caught the flickering candlelight, culminating your preparation with a cherished pendant—a family heirloom adorned with the Mikaelson crest.

Stepping into the grand dining hall, you were met with the scrutinizing gazes of the Blacks. Whispers and curious glances darted in your direction as you approached the long table, poised and unwavering, choosing to disregard Aegon's lecherous leers that felt all too familiar. A frown tightened your lips when you spied that both seats beside Helaena were occupied. Resigned yet resolute, you claimed the next available chair—seated close to Aemond.

"My prince," you intoned softly, offering a nod of acknowledgment.

Aemond's violet eye bore into you, a swirl of unspoken thoughts birthing an electric tension between you. Time seemed to stretch as he regarded you, his expression inscrutable, before he replied, "My Lady," his voice low and controlled, yet laden with something you couldn't discern.

With practiced grace, you settled into your seat, the heavy air thick with unspoken politics. You leaned slightly forward, attempting to listen as King Viserys, broken and weary beneath the weight of his crown, delivered a grand speech. He spoke of unity and the bonds of family, though in truth, all you wished for was the freedom to roll your eyes, a habit you had long restrained. His words felt hollow, a poignant irony given his role in fracturing his family as much as he sought to mend it

From what Queen Alicent had confided in you, you were painfully aware of the King's heart-wrenching choice—his decisions that saw his first wife deprived of her future and life, all in favor of the male heir he hoped for. That tragic episode echoed through the halls of the Red Keep, leading to not just his wife but both her and their son's death. And now, as King Viserys eagerly sought the son he so desperately desired, he had all but disregarded Aegon, neglecting the boy from the moment of his first cry.

As the King’s voice echoed in the hall, you caught sight of Helaena, Aegon, and Aemond—each face twisted in quiet agony, a poignant testament to the empty love their father bestowed upon them. In that moment, you felt a surge of empathy and support for them — even Aegon. With a discreet but deliberate motion, you slipped your hand beneath the table, gently covering Aemond’s tightly clenched fist.

He tensed at your touch, but after a heartbeat of hesitation, Aemond relaxed and opened his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. A small squeeze passed between you—a silent token of gratitude that spoke volumes in contrast to the empty words spilling from the King's lips.

As the evening wore on, the air thick with unwelcome tension, your mind began to drift, thoughts becoming a haze as the speeches droned on around you. It was only when Aemond's hand slipped from yours, his presence withdrawing as he rose to his feet, that your gaze sharpened. You found him casting a fierce glare at Jacaerys, who was regaling the gathering with yet another toast.

However, it was Helaena's gentle voice that truly broke through the fog enveloping you. She stood, her lovely countenance illuminated by a warm, sugary smile as she raised her glass high. "I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena," she declared, her tone carrying a dreamy lightness, "They'll be married soon. It isn't so bad. Mostly he just ignores you... except when sometimes he's drunk."

Her words pierced your heart, the bittersweet truth laced within them shattering whatever sympathy you had harbored for Aegon. With a mixture of sorrow and indignation igniting within you, you cast a venomous glare towards Prince Daemon, who, aflame with mirth, laughed at Helaena’s toast. Yet you were not as discreet as you’d hoped; the piercing gaze of Prince Daemon met yours, a knowing smirk creeping upon his lips.

“I do believe I am yet to have the distinct pleasure of being introduced to our guest,” Prince Daemon declared, his voice tinged with the kind of arrogance that could curdle the blood of the unwary. The room fell silent; all attention was drawn to you, as if you were a curious creature caged among the dragons, and you suppressed the urge to sigh at the mischief brewing in his expression.

Queen Alicent cleared her throat—a notable attempt to extricate you from Daemon’s merciless gaze. “She is one of my esteemed ladies, Prince Daemon,” she interjected, her tone hinting at a subtle warning, though the sharpness of the prince’s wit remained unyielding.

“A lady, indeed?” Daemon’s voice was laced with mockery, his eyes flickering over you as if you were an intricate puzzle, “Yet here she sits, so comfortably, as if she belongs to the very blood of House Targaryen.” Daemon replied, the cunning glimmer in his eye only intensifying. He leaned forward, every inch the contemplative predator. “What is your name, my lady?”

The warmth of the hall contrasted sharply with the coolness of his gaze, yet you met it with unwavering resolve, the remnant courage of your lineage steeling your heart as you told him your name and lied about hailing from The Reach, your voice steady, resonating amidst the stillness.

"Mikaelson?" Daemon mused, his smirk as sharp as Valyrian steel. His silver hair framed a face both youthful and hardened by conflict, and his voice dripped with the playfulness of a cunning predator. "And yet you're no son."

A tight smile graced your lips, the playful banter igniting the spark of your short temper. "My father has enough sons, I assure you, Prince Daemon," you rebuffed, your tone dipped in irritation.

"How old are you? Six and ten?" he pressed, his gaze unwavering, while you caught sight of young Jacaerys approaching Helaena, asking her for a dance. If only irony were not woven into the very fabric of their fates—how you wished Queen Alicent had seen fit to unite them in a more harmonious bond than the betrothal she made with Helaena and Aegon.

But also at that moment, you recognized the precariousness of your own web of lies. Since your arrival at King's Landing, you had deceived the queen into believing you were six and ten, which in truth you were. Oh, how the centuries rolled by, yet your vampiric nature kept your visage untouched, a fragrant bloom eternally in its prime. It was a game of wit and veiled truths, and you knew well how to play.

You met Daemon’s piercing gaze anew, your expression turning steely, tinged with an edge of irritation. “No, your highness,” you replied, your voice as cool as ice. “I am three-and-twenty.”

Prince Daemon raised a silver eyebrow in surprise. “My, my, even older than Prince Aegon,” he drawled, the words rolled off his tongue like honey laced with venom, aimed to sting, "And unmarried, I presume?"

Though you longed to retort with the truth, that you were even older than him, a creature of darkness preserved by the very essence of your nature, you instead offered a demure smile, saying, “Yes. But I prefer it that way. Much more preferable than marrying whilst I was a girl." Your words, though soft-spoken, held a steel beneath their surface—a blade forged in the fires of countless unsaid anger at the world around you.

Daemon’s lips curled into an amused smirk, and he shrugged, seemingly unfazed. “And yet, that is the world we live in.” His tone was laced with the disillusionment of a man who had seen much—his own brand of charm wrapped in an air of indifference.

“Indeed, a world where old men prey upon young girls,” you countered, your voice steady and unwavering, “but I daresay you are no stranger to such tactics, your highness.” The look of amusement that had brightened Daemon’s features dimmed, his smirk wilting like a flower in winter, which you took great satisfaction in.

You jolted in your seat, when Aemond, seated beside you, suddenly slammed his fist onto the table. The cacophony of music and chatter in the hall fell silent as he rose, his goblet held aloft like a rallying cry. "Last Tribute!" he announced, a boldness in his voice that demanded attention.

You glanced around the room, and the unease reflected in the faces of his kin did not escape you. Aemond continued, "To the health of my nephews: Jace… Luke… and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… hm… strong."

A faint gasp escaped your lips as you caught the veiled insult aimed at the Velaryon boys' bastardy. The shocked expressions of the Targaryens around you were a clear indicator that Aemond’s words had struck a nerve. Queen Alicent, her composure straining against the affront to her family, attempted to intervene. "Aemond," she cautioned, her voice taut with concern.

But he paid her no heed, raising his goblet higher, a wicked gleam in his eye as he spoke, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Come… let us drain our cups to these three… Strong boys," he declared, the words echoing through the revelry like a distant thunderclap.

The hall fell silent, eyes turning to Jace Velaryon, whose face had flushed a deep crimson, betrayal etching lines into his young features. He advanced on Aemond with the fury of a dragon, fists clenched tight. "I dare you to say that again," he challenged, his words barely concealing the tempest of wrath within him.

"Why? 'Twas only a compliment." Aemond retorted with a smirk that could cut glass. "Do you not think yourself Strong?" The taunt flew from his lips like a well-bred serpent, and before the words had fully settled in the air, Jace's fist met Aemond’s cheek with a resounding smack.

Yet, to Aemond, it seemed naught but a gentle breeze, his expression barely shifting as he staggered back only a pace. His pale violet eye sparkled with mischief, unfazed by Jace's sudden fury.

In a swift motion, you rose from your place at the table, the wooden chair scraping against the stone floor as you moved to intervene. Aemond, with a dismissive shove, pushed Jace down, the young prince hitting the hard ground with a thud.

Without thinking, you stepped towards Helaena, and gently took her by the arm. “Come, boys are such immature creatures, yes,” you said softly, guiding her away from the escalating chaos that threatened to engulf them both. Her wide eyes flickered with uncertainty, but she leaned into your touch, casting a sorrowful glance back at the scene as you ushered her away.

You watched as Aemond stormed out the dining hall, his anger crackling in the air like the storm clouds that often loomed over King's Landing. As chaos settled around you, you felt an impulse, a momentary lapse in resolve, and left Helaena's side to pursue him.

He strode fiercely through the halls of the Red Keep, the glint of his silver hair catching the flickering torchlight. You hurried to match his pace, concern fluttering in your chest. "Aemond," you called out softly, "are you alright?"

The scent of his wrath surrounded him, palpable as the incense in the court. He did not glance your way, his voice a frigid whisper laced with venom. "Absolutely splendid."

Your brow furrowed at the sharpness of his words, and with a hint of naïveté, you responded, "I sense a trace of sarcasm in your tone."

Aemond exhaled sharply, quickening his steps in a feeble attempt to distance himself from your probing presence, but your determination was steady. "Did my mother send you to chastise me?" he snapped, the words like arrows loosed from a drawn bow.

"No," you responded gently, your eyes softening with empathy. "I am here of my own accord, wishing only to know if you are truly well."

His stormy glare wavered for the briefest moment, as if the floodgates within him were on the verge of breaking, as if realising it was you he was talking to. But just as swiftly, he clamped down on it, his demeanor hardening once more. Suddenly, he halted and turned to face you, the tension palpable in the air between you.

You lifted your chin defiantly, unwilling to cower beneath the intensity of his stare. "Knowing," he began, his voice low and resonant. "And yet I find I do not know you at all."

Your brow furrowed, a hint of confusion playing at the corners of your lips. "I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean."

He raised a hand, holding out three fingers as if counting off a point. "Three things," he affirmed, his tone matter-of-fact. "I now know three things about you: your name, your home, and that you have brothers."

You paused, gazing at him with wide, innocent eyes, your voice a gentle whisper, "You seem troubled by this knowledge."

He exhaled heavily, pressing a knuckle to the jagged scar that marred his skin, perhaps seeking solace from its lingering pain. A part of you longed to ease his suffering. "It is only my frustration that weighs heavily upon me," he confessed, his tone laced with a mix of irritation and longing. "You hold the knowledge of my life in your hands, yet I know naught of your story."

You crossed your arms defiantly, donning a mask of indifference, "I do not understand the depth of your frustration."

Aemond's singular violet eye bore into your soul with an intensity that made your heart race. "I suspect you do. You are well aware of the affections I hold for you."

A sharp breath caught in your throat as you shook your head, dismissing the peculiar warmth blossoming within your chest. "Those were mere whims of a boy, your grace," you retorted, attempting to cloak your uncertainty in bravado.

His gaze remained unwavering, a storm of emotion swirling within that piercing eye. "Yet here I stand, no longer a boy, and the flames of my desire for you still burn fierce."

"You mustn't speak so," you urged, desperation threading through your voice like a fraying rope.

"Why ought I to remain silent?" Aemond shrugged, a hint of defiance lacing his words. "This is but the truth of my heart."

"Which is wholly improper," you retorted fiercely, the tension between you thickening in the wake of your words.

An awkward silence enveloped you both, heavy with unspoken thoughts, until Aemond cleared his throat, shifting the fragile atmosphere. "You held your own remarkably well against my uncle's incessant probing," he remarked, seeking lighter ground.

You wrapped your arms around yourself as a tendril of chill from the nearby window touched your skin, though the coolness hardly bothered you. "There is only one man who may speak to me in such a manner," you replied with a touch of defiance, "and that is my brother."

“Mhm,” Aemond murmured, his gaze locked onto yours, an intensity in his violet eye that seemed to pierce through the very air between you. “Pray, tell me more.”

You stifled a roll of your eyes, at once annoyed and amused by his insatiable curiosity. "I am the youngest of six," you said, your tone now lighthearted yet elusive, "and my favorite color is pink. Might that suffice for your unquenchable thirst for knowledge about me?"

His lips curved in a smirk, his gaze unwavering. "No," he replied, his voice low and firm. "It shall never be enough."

With a genuine exasperation, you rolled your eyes this time, a small smile betraying your annoyance. "Well, if you must know—"

But your words were abruptly stolen by Aemond’s boldness. His strong hands cupped your face, his touch igniting a warmth that seeped through the layers of silk between you. In an instant, his warm, soft lips met yours, and time seemed to freeze. Your heart raced, an unexpected firework of emotion exploding within you as you instinctively leaned into him, responding to the kiss despite the whirlwind of confusion in your mind.

Yet reality came crashing back as your senses settled, and you hastily broke away from him, breathless and bewildered. The air in the room felt charged, and you glared at him, regaining your composure and a semblance of control

The fool wore a dopey grin, that infuriatingly charming smile that only deepened your ire. You shot him a withering look. “I was speaking,” you pointedly reminded him.

His brows knitted in confusion, a flicker of surprise on his face. “What?”

You planted your hands defiantly on your hips, your indignation brewing like a storm. “I was speaking, and you interrupted me! Not only that, but you did not seek my permission to claim my lips.”

Aemond’s laughter rang like the chiming of bells, an amused glimmer in his eye as he observed your vexation. “Very well, my lady. May I kiss you again?”

Your irritation flared, your cheeks warming with a blend of anger and embarrassment. You took a deliberate step back, confusion simmering just beneath your skin. “No, of course not. You have already stolen a kiss from me, but I shall not so easily grant you another.” You held back the childish urge to stomp your foot in frustration. With a petulant huff, you turned on your heel to storm away, your voice carrying a wisp of indignation. “This is most improper and indecent! Good night, your Highness.”

“Good night, my Lady Love,” Aemond murmured, his violet gaze lingering on you until you vanished around a distant corner. His heart swelled with an unexpected mix of hope and affection, the chaotic Targaryen supper and the impending shadows of war fading from his mind. With a tender gesture, he brushed his fingertip against the spot where your lips had just brushed against his, savoring the memory.

And as you stalked off into the dimly lit corridors of the castle, the weight of his gaze lingered, leaving you with a tumult of emotions swirling in your mind, an echo of the kiss that you could neither dismiss nor desire to forget.

[dreaming-of-the-reality]

Season 2 Alicent Hightower is not the same Alicent Hightower I loved and cherished from season 1

“I have sinned”

“We must proceed cautiously”

“Father I do not wish to be a spectacle”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Episode 6: The Princess and the Queen

• “Keep trying Ser Laenor, sooner or later you might get one who looks like you” - Alicent regarding Joffrey’s appearance.

• “Have I lost my sanity Ser Criston? Do my senses lead me astray, or is everyone else asleep dreaming the same woolly dream? - Alicent to Ser Criston about Viserys ignoring Rhaenyra’s bastards.

• “How sweetly the fox speaks when it’s been cornered by the hounds” - Alicent to Viserys after Rhaenyra’s offer wedding Jace and Heleana.

• “She is desperate, she feels the earth washing away beneath her feet and now she expects us to ignore her transgressions and for me to marry my only daughter, to one of her… plain features sons”

• “You may do as you wish, husband. When I am cold in my grave” - iconic Alicent quote to Viserys

• *Alicent leads Viserys into his chair and reaches for a blanket* - “I do not need the blanket-“ - *Alicent aggressively tucking the blanket over Viserys*

~~~~~~~~~~

Episode 7: Driftmark

• “Where is Ser Laenor?” - “Entertaining his young squires I’d venture” - Alicent responding to Viserys request.

• “There is a debt to be paid. I shall have one of her sons eyes in return” - and eye for an eye

• “If the King will not seek justice, the Queen will. Ser Criston, bring me the eye of Lucerys Velaryon. He can choose which eye to keep, a privilege he did not grant my son”

• “No you’re sworn to me!” - Alicent to Ser Criston

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Episode 8: Lord of the Tides

• “Princess Rhaenyra… and Prince Daemon. It’s been so long since we were granted the joy of your presence”

• “and on the morrow, which authority will sit in judgment of my (Rhaenyra) sons claim on his own inheritance?” - “that would be mine (Alicent)… and the hands. But be assured, the Father is just and commands me to forget the accusations you have hurled in this room today *smirk*”

• “You’ll have the chance to make your own petitions Rhaenyra. Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Episode 9: The Green Council

• “Am I to understand that members of this small council have been planning, secretly, to install my son without me?”

• “But the King did not wish for the murder of his daughter! He loved her, I will not have you deny this!”

• “One more word and I’ll have you removed from this chamber and sent to the wall!”

• “We do not rule, but we may guide the men who do”

• “Our hearts were never one. I see that now. Rather, I have been a piece that you moved about the board”

• “I have Aegon. We’ll proceed now as I see fit”

• “I wanted whatever you impressed upon me to want”

• “Reluctance to murder, is not a weakness!”

~~~~~~~~~

RIP to my iconic Queen Alicent Hightower of Season 1

[queenvhagar]

I think the moment the show really went wrong was in episode 8 of season 1. Up until this moment they had a more or less balanced take on the brewing conflict. While obviously more oriented towards Rhaenyra as the POV character and more sympathetic to her perspective, I felt like the other characters were still their own and that the writing was at least somewhat attempting to understand or show each character's motivation, thus giving more balance to the sides. Characters still reasonably existed as versions of their book counterparts, and their characters were not fundamentally altered.

Episode 8 goes away from the previous, more balanced approach to the story. First, they decide to introduce the adult version of Team Green's figurehead, the claimant opposing Rhaenyra in this famous historical civil war, through an original character created to be his panicked rape victim, ensuring the audience will see him primarily as a violent abuser going forward, despite little credible evidence this was his character in the books, in order to make his opponent seem more favorable. Then the Driftmark succession issue is fundamentally altered. On screen, Vaemond petitions the crown directly and a deathly ill Viserys endures the walk to the throne to defend his daughter. Vaemond is executed from behind by Daemon in an instant, and his death is never mentioned again by anyone. Rhaenyra plays no part in his death and doesn't even speak of it. Contrast this with the source material, where Vaemond puts forward his claim to Driftmark on the correct basis that Rhaenyra's sons are not Velaryons. Rhaenyra hears of this and orders Daemon to find him and take his head. Then she feeds his body to her dragon. Vaemond's cousins petition the crown to get justice for what happened. Viserys orders their tongues cut out, and immediately after he is cut so badly by the Iron Throne that he loses his hand.

An approach that could have maintained certain qualities of the on screen depiction while portraying the conflict as more nuanced and balanced: make the original character one of Aegon's paramours, or a whore he brought back to the castle, showing that he is unfaithful to his wife now in addition to his character being a drunk. Have Alicent discover them together and send the girl away with coin and moon tea, scolding Aegon for his laziness and his disinterest in duty. This small change fits with the book accounts of Aegon as someone more interested in women and wine than being king (initially). While this version of the character is flawed, he is not an irredeemable sex criminal who enjoys violence and subjugation of others.

Then, have Vaemond publicly voice his claim to Driftmark, at High Tide, in front of the court, upon hearing of Corlys' injury and illness. When Rhaenyra hears the news, she tells Daemon, and together they plan, just as they did with Laenor in the last episode, that Daemon will act for her. They echo their words from before about how the people should fear their power. This time, however, Vaemond will really die for speaking about Rhaenyra's deception, and Rhaenyra will feed at least part of him to Syrax. Let Rhaenyra have agency and affect the story, while at the same time demonstrating the protectiveness she feels for her family and lengths she'll go to secure power for them. Daemon will still take his life, but it will be at Rhaenyra's order. Let Rhaenyra have the boldness and the fire of her younger self.

Vaemond's cousins come to King's Landing to demand justice. Rhaenyra and Daemon go to court to defend themselves, and they are somewhat shaken to discover that Viserys is on his deathbed and Alicent and the Greens rule in the king's absence. Rhaenyra feels vulnerable without her father. She tries to broker the marriage deal with Rhaenys, and she visits her father in the night to ask for his help.

Viserys makes a final stand to go to the throne so he can affirm Lucerys as a trueborn Velaryon and order the tongues of the Velaryons. As they are seized by guards, Viserys collapses, slicing his surviving hand on the throne as he falls. Everyone sees the throne has cut him. The Greens believe that the throne has spurned him for his unjust actions, and they see once again that the Blacks are willing to go to any length to protect themselves and secure their power. Meanwhile the Blacks refute the idea that the cut from the throne meant anything at all with his ill health causing the fall, and they see the whole affair as having been necessary to secure their power and protect themselves and their own from those who would take it from them.

The king's hand is bandaged before the family dinner, when both sides make toasts to the other as a show of amity for the ailing king, but when he leaves the tension returns and the fight breaks out. Rhaenyra leaves with her sons immediately without a word, as Alicent goes to put the king to bed. She gives him a sip from his chalice, and as she leaves his room that evening she stops the servant, reminding her of the instructions to inform Alicent immediately of any changes to the king's health, understanding that the king is not long for this world and tomorrow could be the day when all their plans start to play out. We can be left to wonder what was in the chalice - was it truly medicine and a continuance of Alicent serving the king in her wifely duties, or perhaps, having witnessed the day's events, and having heard from the maesters that his new wound would never heal, did she take it upon herself to end his life and start the new chain of events to follow?

A more balanced episode 9 would follow the previous characterizations of characters and maintain more of the integrity of the source material. Alicent, Cole, and Otto call and lead the Green Council together, insisting it's necessary for the realm and their family that the Blacks never take the throne for themselves. The search for Aegon occurs immediately, with Arryk and Erryk searching random whorehouses on the Street of Silk and Cole and Aemond going to a specific brothel that holds special meaning to Aegon (and Aemond) with the madame.

Eventually, Aegon is found by the twins in the Sept, where he went to hide when he discovered he was being sought after (and Mysaria sells out his location to Otto). Aegon is brought to the council, where Helaena and Alicent are, and everyone convinces Aegon to accept his crown: the Blacks had Laenor killed, and then Vaemond, and now five noblemen are mute for challenging their power. They didn't hesitate to take Aemond's eye and threaten him with further harm, and they won't hesitate when it comes to Viserys' sons existing with stronger claims than her and her bastards, according to Andal tradition and the Council of 101 AC. Rhaenyra will have to put them to death to secure her power, so Aegon cannot let her seize the throne in the first place. Aegon finally agrees to do his duty.

At the coronation in the Dragonpit, Aegon is crowned by Cole and Helaena by Alicent, and the crowd cheers the both of them. At the exit, Aegon mounts Sunfyre and circles the city in a show of strength. As he flies, he is surprised as Rhaenys and Meleys brush dangerously close to them as the two of them fly out of the city and toward Dragonstone. The Greens, watching from the ground, know that Rhaenyra will soon know of Aegon's accession.

Episode 10 can exist largely as it is, and end the same: Rhaenyra suffers the loss of her father, her throne, and her unborn daughter. Daemon takes an active role in planning to take the throne, while Rhaenyra shows restraint, somewhat paralyzed by the circumstances. Rhaenys and Corlys discuss Rhaenyra's role in Laenor's death and the betrothal of their granddaughters to her sons, and ultimately decide to back her if war should come. The Greens send an envoy to deliver terms (Otto is not present, for obvious reasons) and Rhaenyra receives them in the castle (she doesn't hop on dragonback immediately after giving birth, for obvious reasons). Rhaenyra decides to send her sons as envoys to gauge her support, and Lucerys is ambushed by Aemond in the skies on Storm's End. The last shot of the season is Rhaenyra's look of fury at the news, and the promise of war in her eyes.

[myfandomprompts]

To Risk It All | Chapter 1

Aemond x Dragonrider!OC

Summary: Daera arrives in King's Landing. Aemond remembers her vividly.

Tags: possessive!Aemond, angst, mature, strangers to lovers, enemies to lovers, slow burn, obsession, blood, canon divergence, king Aemond, smut and fluff, dragons, war, F&B spoilers. | Prologue - Masterlist

Though Daera had never stepped foot in King's Landing before, the Dragonpit was unmistakable as she glided down her dragon towards the sandy ground, the Dragonkeepers welcoming her as they once did with Laenor. The red towers of the castle were visible in the distance, the chaotic sound of the city rising in the air as well as the stench that came along with it. All of this was so new to her. Once in the carriage that would lead her to Aegon’s Hill, she wondered what her mother and cousins had planned upon their delayed arrival. Would they demand justice, revenge?

Leaving the Queen, she was led to her brother’s temporary chambers. Upon seeing him again, Daera did not hesitate to throw herself in his arms, holding him tightly as if she feared he would disappear. His purple eyes were red with exhaustion, his small figure pressing against her chest as she held him close. She asked about him, but Daemion only voiced a weak affirmation before diving back into a worrying silence.

“Mother and father’s cousins are on their way, they will be there soon. Then we will go home,” she assured him, stroking his silver curls fondly.

His silence endured and she could do nothing but respect it, basking in their shared embrace before they were led to the royal sept. She held her brother’s hand while she paid her respects to their father, trying to not care for the gruesome state of his head under the white linen while Daemion stared at the ground, speechless.

Daera could feel him trembling, so she squeezed his hand harder.

Soon nightfall came and Daemion had still not said a word to her and when they came back to their apartments within Maegor’s Holdfast. The ghost of their father floated around them like a cold breeze, icing their blood, making them feel so alone, so powerless.

She asked him if he was tempted by a nightly ride upon Seasmoke, hoping to spark something other than sorrow in his eyes, but he only dismissed her with a curt shake of the head. “Daemion… we must be strong. Carry on what he left behind for us, and for mother. You can cry in front of me, you don’t have to hold your tears.”

He finally looked at her, pain plaguing his expression, and she wanted to wipe it away, make it disappear forever.

“You don’t cry,” he remarked with watery eyes.

“I do. I only reserve my grief for the ones I love, and that is you and mother. Certainly not the court,” she answered with bitterness, thinking about those who had done nothing while Vaemond Velaryon was mercilessly slain before them.

Now all that she hoped was that one day, her brother would be able to overcome the trauma the Rogue Prince had inflicted upon him, upon her family. She would make it so, she promised.

Daemion didn’t say a word, instead wrapped her arms around her, flattening his face against her and her heart ached in affection. “Goodnight, sister.”

As she watched her brother close the door, she realised that she, on the other hand, could not bear to be alone. She was scared to be left with her thoughts in such an unfamiliar place and desired to return to what comforted her.

She glanced at each side of the corridor, trying to remember the location of the stairs that led to the main hall. She moved through the castle silently, her steps leading her through the red faded stoney walls until she reached the outyard, where the night had settled so deep she shivered under her cloak.

“I demand to be taken to the Dragonpit,” she called out to one of the guards standing at the main gate.

“It is the hour of the ghosts, my Lady.”

“And what of it?” Daera said, arching a brow high on her forehead. 

The guard looked at her with a repressed scoff. “So I cannot prepare a carriage only because you wish to see your dragon, I am afraid.”

Daera fumed inside, but was unwilling to give up. “Then find someone to escort me on foot.”

This time, the guard did not hide his snicker. “I do not think that a young Lady such as you should be strolling the streets at this hour.”

“Open the gates.”

Daera turned around to see the newcomer as the guard widened his eyes. She had to narrow hers in order to see properly amidst the shadows of the courtyard but she could recognise the silver hair around his face and the smug demeanour of the man that was now advancing toward them. He wore a long dark green cloak that enveloped his figure, boots scratching the floor.

“Yes, my Prince.”

The guard did as told, gesturing to his counterpart to help him move the heavy doors in order to allow the Prince passage. Once outside of the walls, he suddenly stopped in his tracks to look at her over his shoulders. “Are you coming or not?”

Daera almost jumped, startled to be addressed and scurried to follow him, earning an annoyed look from the guard that closed the gates behind them. The silver-haired man only smirked and resumed his walk, forcing her to catch up with him.

“You are the Velaryon girl. Daera, is it? The Winged Seahorse?” he said, glancing at her from the corner of his eye while hastening his pace away from the castle’s gates. “You ride Seasmoke?”

“Yes.”

The way he behaved along with his unabashed confidence left little to no doubt about his identity, and Daera’s suspicions were confirmed when they came to a stop at a junction, now facing each other for the first time.

He looked at her, fully, and she could see the lilac eyes, the curly silver hair, the proud jawline and the redness under his eyes. She had not seen them in years, but it was easy to guess which out of the three children of Viserys Targaryen he was.

“Yes, my Prince. And you are Aegon Targaryen," she concluded, hinting that they had never been introduced properly.

“Indeed, we’ve met once before. But we both grew up since that time,” he said with poise before giving her a onceover. “And for the best, it would seem."

Daera stayed emotionless. “I suppose so. We must live up to our House’s name the best we can. Make them proud.” 

He looked at her for a little while, assessing her features and the way she spoke, trying to decide if the girl was not very quick witted or if she was just careful around him.

“I am sorry for your loss,” he finally said after his study, watching as her eyes turned grimmer at the mention of her father.

“Thank you."

She did not know what to say, and gazed at the paved stone. She had successfully managed to exit the castle grounds but from her position, she had no idea in what direction the Dragonpit was, the night sky hindering her vision.

But her curiosity was piqued by the unexpected encounter, making her momentarily forget about her destination. "May I ask where you are going at this hour, Prince Aegon?”

“The only place I can truly entertain myself,” he smirked. "I would have invited you to come along, but as I understood, you have a dragon to ride.” 

She only nodded, deciding that she did not want to drag a more precise answer out of him by the way he mysteriously looked at her.

“The Dragonpit is this way, you’ll have to cross Fleabottom,” he pointed vaguely to the street on the right. "Keep on and you’ll see the light of the dome from the plaza. I hope the Dragonkeepers are in a good mood,” he added. “For your sake.” 

He reached for his hood to put it over his hair, covering the very recognisable silver of it. “Oh… Thank you.”

“Have a nice flight, Daera.”  

As she watched him stride off southward, she felt jealous of his hood, feeling silly for not having brought one of her own to hide her silver head. Instead she was left to squeeze the fabric of her cloak around her and began walking, thoughts swirling around the oddity of the King’s son.

Were all of his children like this? Helaena? Aemond? Daeron?

She thought about Aemond, the boy she had met with two eyes before he lost one out of pure perseverance. She had seen neither him nor Helena since her arrival, and she knew Daeron to be in Oldtown. But now that she had met one of them, she found herself most curious about the others.

It was a shame that she was to leave as soon as her great cousins’ plea would be heard.

Aemond cursed under his breath when he saw that none of the adjacent streets he had taken were empty, his plan to remain unnoticed moot. His evening ride on Vhagar had been pleasant, a necessity after the dinner that had left him fuming, remembering the sufficient snort of Lucerys Velaryon as the roasted pig was served, and how Jacaerys Velaryon had thought he could provoke him. In fact, Aemond felt vengeful still, much of the ire accumulated within him since that fateful day on Driftmark demanding to be released, and he felt it more and more difficult to keep his rancour at bay. 

The noises of the night owls above and the drunks staggering on the main street steered him away from his murderous thoughts, noticing with relief that he was getting closer to the Red Keep as he walked further up Sour Belley Row. When he took a turn to a street he hoped to be empty, the thoughts invaded him once again.

If only he could challenge Lucerys Valeryon, challenge him in a fight, or even sneak into his room, unseen, and make him beg for him to stop when he would try to take his eye as wel-

A loud laugh echoed from one of the back alleys, and he instantly stopped in his tracks, his jaw clenching. "... the King passes away, head to the dark clear glowing flame that turns as green as the dawn…"

He looked under his hood to search for the source of the voice, only spotting two shadowy forms as another shrilling laugh echoed against the stone walls of the alley. From afar he recognised an old woman he knew blind, talking to a stranger whose back was turned to him. 

He sighed with annoyance; this woman was known to be some sort of seer, overlooked by some, adored by others, and decided to pay it no mind, rather walking away before earning more of her questionable predictions. It was easy for a charlatans like her to announce the death of his father when he had one foot in the tomb, and her sort only deserved his disdain.

But as he casted one last disapproving look to the old crone, he caught sight of the stranger’s silver hair facing her and stilled again.

It was a woman, a young woman that was wearing noble clothes, both blue and black, wrapped around a thick dark marine cloak. A Targaryen? One of Aegon’s bastards? No, she was far too old. An imitator perhaps? Not from her clothes and the way she stood herself. She then turned her face slightly, and curiosity took the better of him at once.

She was too beautiful not to be of noble blood, and there was only one person that possessed her characteristics and was currently in the capital: Daera Velaryon, the girl he had watched grieve Laena Velaryon all of those years ago on Driftmark, and had sometimes after claimed her brother’s dragon, following his own steps.

The one who had led him to the dune where Vhagar slept.

She had grown much, she was nothing like the girl he had met by the seaside. Before he could realise it, his feet had advanced toward the two women on their own, and as he stepped into the light, the white orbs of the seer snapped at him like she had suddenly recovered the ability to see. The Velaryon followed her gaze and took a hasty step back when she realised that he was right behind her, a jasmine fragrance filling the air as she moved.

He could not blame her for her reaction, knowing that he would look rather imposing to her as he beat her both in height and size and bore a hooded cloak that hid most of his face, keeping it in the shadows.

“Ha! There is the vision, the one you will cower under!” continued the old woman, drawing back both Aemond’s and the girl’s gaze on her. 

Then the young woman spoke, allowing him to finally hear her voice for the first time in years, memories coming back to him at the softness of her tone. “I… I don’t understand.”

The seer cackled again and began searching for Daera’s hands, reaching to her front and bringing them into her own. “The God of Flame and Shadow understands, my dear,” she said as she tapped her hand and grinned widely. "You, on the other hand, don't need to."

Aemond was almost certain that the woman had ‘looked’ straight at him as she said her last piece, but he had no time to react for she let out another cackle before letting go of Daera’s hands and proceeded to slowly limp away in the dark alley, holding on to the wall for direction.

Both him and Daera watched as she disappeared in the shadows before she turned to face him, making Aemond remember where he was and where he was going before he had stupidly lost himself in a dark alley. 

He could feel her gaze on him, scrutinising, the scent of jasmine spreading in the air.

“Who are you?” she asked, her eyes searching under the hood that covered his face.

He congratulated himself for letting his sapphire eye bare of leather for that particular occasion. No one could know he was away from the keep, even less recognise him.

“None of your concern, I’m afraid.”

His tone was cold, unforgiving. He wanted to turn away before she could ask any more compromising questions, but his body refused to move, as if it was detached from his brain.

“You smell of dragon.” 

He stopped himself in time from lifting his head completely in reaction, keeping his features safely tucked away in the shadows. Instead, he watched her intensely under his hood as she kept searching for his eye, gears visibly turning behind her violet ones. 

“It’s unwise to insult strangers away at such a late hour. Especially alone,” he answered with all the menacing tone he could muster.

She straightened at that, and if she hadn’t considered him dangerous before, she was now. Or was it prudence? 

“I didn't mean to insult you. I only… I just wanted to head to the Dragonpit by myself, but I got… distracted,” she gestured behind her where the woman had disappeared, staring at the now empty street deep in thought. “I wish to see the dragons for myself.”

“Hm,” he found himself muttering, wondering why in the seven hells he was still standing there instead of being on his way back already. Instead he found the want to goad her, to test her. “Maybe if you had stayed on the main street and avoided being lured by beggars and liars, you would have found it without difficulty.”

He saw her chin lift up at that, like a creature ready to strike, to defend itself. 

Like a dragon.

“Well, if I was lured so easily, like you put it, I wonder what you are doing here,” she said defiantly, “Fancy the words of a liar or do you just have a likeness for dark alleys? Or perhaps more discriminating endeavours?”

He considered her for a moment before letting out a scoff, surprising himself and earning a puzzled look from her. She had the grit of her father, he could give her that. Or was it the fire in her veins, the same that he possessed?

"See the dragons," she had said, instead of explaining that she wanted to ride hers. Just like he had.

Exactly as he had said all of those years ago.

He hummed again, scrutinising her. “Maybe you should ask someone else, there are much more informed people in those streets than old fortune tellers and strangers that smell of dragon. You would be better to take your chance with them.”

He allowed himself a short moment to see her expression shift from defensive to surprised, before turning his back to her swiftly and finally walking away, letting a smile creep at the corner of his mouth.

That was unexpected.

“You think you can protect him? Ha! He will fall, girl, you are powerless against their wits. Grief plagues you all, but so do teeth and claws. Maybe wings will cover his tomb?”

The blind woman's voice kept ringing in her ears as she walked down the main avenue. Protect him? Protect him from what? From who? Was it her brother, she had asked. Was it Daemion? But the woman had not answered her, only mocked her further.

"One candle burns as the King passes away, head to the dark clear glowing flame that turns as green as the dawn and see your heart within it, your future."

What had she meant?

Daera raised her head and exhaled in relief when she saw the enormous roof of the Dragonpit over a nearby building. She began walking again, carefully staying in the dark and avoiding every person she would cross paths with.

The seer had called to her, asked her to approach, but when Daera had said that she had nothing to offer, taking the woman for a beggar, she had seen the white of her eyes and felt compelled to go to her. The old woman had then passed her hand over her face before laughing and speaking mysterious words, taunting her. Should she even take her seriously? 

But against all odds, it was not the most peculiar encounter she had made this evening, and wondered if maybe, the night had more in store for her.

The hooded man that had inexplicably materialised behind her, listening in to the incomprehensible words that were spoken to her, had unsettled her and now occupied her thoughts as she climbed the steps to the Dragon Pit. He was tall and lean, from what she had seen. His voice was soft, but firm, and obviously rather cold as he spoke and she wondered if he always sounded so scathing.

She had only seen his jawline in the dark, the rest of his face hidden from her, but she found herself more intrigued by him than by the blind woman's words. And the smell, sandalwood mixed with smoke. But it was the distinctive scent of dragon that had her eagerly curious. It was the exact same smell as when Princess Rhaenys came back from a ride with Meleys, or as Laenor had once, or as Laena did. Was he a Dragonkeeper? Or maybe just a worker there? Maybe she had been wrong completely, and had mistaken the scent for another odour. But he had not denied it, rather had looked unphased when she had pointed it out. She might think of every possibility but her instincts already knew the truth.

She wondered what the odds were of meeting two Targaryen Princes in one night.

Chapter 2

Thank you @babyblue711 & @arcielee for beta.

Tag list: @knightprincess@baconturtle @witheredoffherwitch @lexwolfhale @toodlesxcuddles @watercolorskyy (sorry I forgot to tag you in the prologue)

[thevelaryons]

Something so interesting about Daenaera is the opposing symbolism of summer/winter in her parents' death:

Daenaera Velaryon was an orphan. Her mother had been carried off by the Winter Fever; her father had died in the Stepstones when his True Heart went down.

— Fire & Blood, Under the Regents

These three cities surround the large, fertile “heel” of Essos, the promontory that divides the Summer Sea from the narrow sea and was once part of the land bridge that joined that continent to Westeros.

— The World of Ice & Fire, The Free Cities

Her mother's death is associated with winter (an illness that leaves the victim with a violent cold) and her father's death with summer (the sea by the Stepstones).

Even her grandfathers have opposing dichotomies when it comes to their death:

Lord Corlys also had half a dozen nephews, however, and the eldest of them, Ser Vaemond Velaryon, protested that the inheritance by rights should pass to him…on the grounds that Rhaenyra’s sons were bastards sired by Harwin Strong. The princess was not slow in answering this charge. She dispatched Prince Daemon to seize Ser Vaemond, had his head removed, and fed his carcass to her dragon, Syrax.

— Fire & Blood, Heirs of the Dragon

First to pay that price were the captive lords languishing in the dungeons under the Red Keep, men who had once sworn to defend the rights of Princess Rhaenyra and still stubbornly refused to bend the knee to King Aegon. One by one they were dragged out into the castle ward, where the King’s Justice awaited them with his axe. Each man was given one final chance to swear fealty to His Grace; only Lord Butterwell, Lord Stokeworth, and Lord Rosby chose to do so. Lord Hayford, Lord Merryweather, Lord Harte, Lord Buckler, Lord Caswell, and Lady Fell valued their sworn word more than their lives, and were beheaded each in turn, along with eight landed knights and twoscore servants and retainers. Their heads were mounted on spikes above the city’s gates.

— Fire & Blood, The Dying of the Dragons

Daenaera's paternal grandfather was killed by the Blacks and her maternal grandfather was killed by the Greens.

[agent-barnes40]

Three eyes between you

TW: ANGST, Canon divergent, incest, Gendered Reader, mention of still births, and miscarriages

Aegon wanted to court you, but it won't be for you both.

@akela

Ñuha dārōñe, my royal is what he called you. You wore the items he gifted you. You were his until you weren't. That horrible night in Driftmark tore him away from you.

You were the reason why he didn't drink. You were why he didn't see whores. You were the reason he tried to fit the title of being the firstborn son of King Viserys Targaryen. He regularly told you he wanted your hand in marriage.

The two of you were seen everywhere, smiling, and laughing. You were in each other's arms when Aemond's eye was cut out. You were holding onto Aemond, crying for his lost eye.

Alicent didn't trust you, only barely older than Aegon himself. You were the last piece of Aemma that the world had. You grew up seeing her as your mother, and she only saw you as a challenger to her children.

"Father, Lucerys caused this. He needs to be punished!" You yelled, arm pushing toward the bleeding prince on the other side of the room.

"Aemond called their legitimacy to be questioned, dubys sibling!" Rhaenyra called out, angrily. You moved away from Aemond and in front of the heir, the Targaryen fire in your eyes.

"We all know it, Rhaenyra! Stop lying to them and yourself! We all know you wish to fuck our uncle, you could've chosen him to sire your children than Ser Harwin Strong!" You snapped, a hand reaching out to grab your knife.

"You birthed three boys into a world where they will be questioned for their father! I pity Laenor for being forced to marry you." You spat out, turning to Alicent.

"My queen, your youngest son deserves justice, that my father, the king will not give him. The least I can do is give him an equal in court." You whispered, turning your knife to Alicent. "Take my eye as payment, seeing as Prince Lucerys doesn't own up to his grave mistake."

You and Aegon left Driftmark with only three eyes between you. Aegon knew this was hard for you and Aemond. So the three of you came up with an idea to work on regaining the lost depth perception. Aegon would cover his eye with one of Aemond's prototype eyepatches while the three of you would practice. It took hours.

By Aegon and your's wedding, you disregarded the eyepatch and wore a Tiger-eye stone in your empty socket. Aegon's eye color.

"My heart, eyesight, and love will always be his, until the day I die." You vowed, sniffling as the two of you took a slight step toward each other. That day was perfect. The two of you took over Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor's rooms for your family.

Sadly, love was never meant to be with the two of you. It took years for the two of you to have a child that breathed in your arms. The baby girl was named Jaehaera, her twin didn't live. The two of you kept a bright life for her, not grieving him in front of her. Jaehaera was spoiled rotten and was allowed at the petition for Driftmark.

The sight of your face was enough to make Lucerys shiver as you lived a life of happiness and love with his mother's rival. The sight of a happy family with another on the way made the child nervous. Jaehaera innocently pointed toward him and he smiled and waved.

Aegon had a tight smile as you watched Jaehaera wave. "That's your cousin, Lucerys." You quietly tell her before putting a finger to your lips as Otto Hightower starts the petition.

The petition didn't last long and Aemond, you, and Aegon covered Jaehaera's eyes and ears from the sight of Vaemond Velaryon. The three of you distracted her until you got out of the hall. The three of you headed for Alicent's rooms, you all stayed there with Heleana until dinner came about.

Your good lady mother was sitting across from Aegon as Jaehaera sat beside him with you on her side next to Heleana, the whole family stood when Viserys entered the room. The whole family faked happiness with each other except for you, Aegon, and Jaehaera.

Viserys abruptly left, leaving the family to answer awkward questions. "My dear dubys sibling, why Jaehaera looks just like our mother. How did you manage that?" Rhaenyra asked, causing you and Aegon to shrug.

"Our young Viserys has mentioned something about her being pretty-" Rhaenyra barely got the sentence out before Aemond and Aegon slammed their hands down on the table, although Aemond started to step around the table.

"If you think that my niece will be marrying any of your children, you are sorely mistaken, sister. She will not be thinking of marrying anyone until she is way older." Aemond growled out as his hand grabbed at Rhaenyra's throat, the Kingsguard came flocking to the scene as Aegon looked at Aemond. "Brother, let her go. I think you've said your piece."

"I don't think I have. She lets her sons take mine and my dubys' eyes and now she wants to take my niece. I don't think so." Aemond spits out, anger flashing in his eye. His grip wasn't tight on Rhaenyra's throat, just enough to give a warning.

[navree]

me @ you calling Lucerys boring! 😆 come on, he's just a kid! cutting out aemond's eye was bad, i agree, but i don't think he was as bland as everyone says. his imposter syndrome in 8 and 10 was interesting to watch at least. he was a brave little boy.

I mean I don't really see anything brave about bringing a knife to a fight he not only had fuck all to do with but where he was clearly at fault (Aemond did nothing wrong, he tamed a free dragon, Baela and Rhaena get a pass because they're grieving but Jace and Luke had no business being involved and certainly no business escalating into 4 v 1 violence against the clear cut victim), trying to literally murder someone because I don't know what the fuck you're trying to do when you stab a knife at someone's face but it's certainly not a warning shot, showing zero remorse for it at all, and at worse acting like a little snot when in the same room with your victim. The fact that Luke got away with this scot free (didn't he literally say "I didn't do anything" you boring little asshole you stabbed out someone's eye that is the opposite of not doing anything!) is an absolute travesty of justice that stains everyone involved (mostly Viserys and Luke but I'm not letting Rhaenyra "pls torture the ten year old stabbing victim until he tells me how he figured out that these white dark haired children aren't the sons of my black platinum blond husband" Targaryen off the hook either). Aemond could have died, not only from the initial wound, but from the myriad of infections or other issues that could have plagued him during the healing process. For God's sake, Viserys nicks himself on the Iron Throne and they have to lop off his arm, his infected injuries and their treatment have already made him pretty firmly decrepit by Driftmark, the fact that Aemond healed without any serious and lifelong and further damaging complication is a goddamn miracle. And even kids know that murder is bad, I'm pretty sure that if I were Lucerys's age and I tried to commit homicide I'd have to deal with some consequences.

And I'm sorry, but I call him boring because he is! They wrote a boring character! That's not on me for picking up on it, that's on the writers and the myriad choices they made that led to them severely underdeveloping several characters, most prominently Lucerys (Jace and Baela and Rhaena at least get another season of life to develop further, Luke gets four episodes and they knew that going in). This is a song I've been singing literally since the show was airing and it's not gonna change, cuz he's dead and therefore stuck with his boring character and complete lack of characterization.

Him being a kid is not a character trait, and it certainly doesn't make him more interesting anymore than, say, his eye color would. The impostor syndrome thing they kinda tried didn't really work because 1) it's not impostor syndrome if it's true, he's not a Velaryon and Vaemond was 99% in the right in that entire thing (I don't like him throwing out misogynistic slurs, you can point out that these aren't Velaryons but Strong bastards without stooping to calling Rhaenyra a whore, I hate men sometimes) 2) in episode 8 it exists for one single line and is not a driving force for him at all for the remainder of the episode to the point that it could be cut out and mean nothing, especially since that scene was only there to introduce adult Aemond and 3) it doesn't even make sense because the person who was set up as having issues with his lack of Velaryon heritage and Harwin being his father was Jace. Jace is the one who hears the rumors and clocks it early on in childhood, Jace is the one who is deeply affected by it to the point of bitterness towards his own mother, Jace is the one who grieves Harwin but also feels angry that he can't express it. All of that was set up as part of Jace's arc, not at all Luke's, who is literally set dressing up until he decides to commit criminal offenses in the middle of the night. And then time skip, and suddenly Jace is A-OK and Luke, who has shown no issue before now (or any personality at all) is slightly concerned about it for one line in episode 8 before going back to being a piece of cardboard until episode 10.

And I'll be honest, the second that scene came out in episode 10, I immediately saw it for what it was, which was a very obvious patch job. The writers were clearly aware that they had not given the viewers any reason at all to care about Luke one way or another, so we weren't going to feel a lot when Vhagar (deservedly, imo) munches on him. So they hastily added in this really heavy-handed scene of poor uwu soft boy Lukey who is so concerned with doing right and needs to blink up tearfully at Mommy and be her sweet boy and get little kisses to assuage his worries, so that we'd feel some emotion and then be said when he becomes the Jonah to Vhagar's whale. It just doesn't work because there was nothing for him before then and therefore I don't care, I just feel bad Rhaenyra.

Luke is a bland and boring character. That's not an attack, that's just what the writers did. They tried to cram too much into a ten episode season, literally twenty years of history, and it caused a lot of characterization problems for a lot of characters, particularly for the Team Black ones. And a consequence of that is that the character with the least amount of time for development got not development and no personality. He's a plank of wood, he's a platonic version of the sexy lamp trope; there's nothing there and he exists only for us to feel bad when the lamp is smashed. Seriously, name me five individual character traits that Lucerys has. He's a momma's boy, even though I'm not really sure that's a character trait but I'll give it to him, and I guess he's devoid of empathy, considering that he doesn't appear to feel literally any remorse for mutilating Aemond (seriously, is it like the Dothraki and "thank you"? does the word "sorry" not exist in Valyrian languages? you can't even send an apology gift basket or a note?). But he's not brave, as there is no scene that shows any bravery or courage, and he's not noble or kind or thoughtful because there's nothing that shows any of that, or anything that shows him being the opposite, cruel or cowardly or weak, because he's a basically a character who could be played by sticking a wig on a mop and waving it around. And any characterization of insecurity exists as something hamfistedly crowbarred in at the last minute in his final episode to try to manipulate the audience's emotions with less sensitivity than D&D trying to tug at our heartstrings by having Drogon try to nudge Dany awake after she's killed.

But there is a character that I do consider to be a brave little boy, though I regret to inform y'all that it is Not a fourteen year old with no depth or personality or written characterization whose main claim to fame is maiming a person without apology and then dying. Nah, the brave little boy title goes to post-Driftmark Aemond. Aemond, at ten, is delivered a life altering injury whose recovery was likely very slow and very painful, involved a lot of worry about whether he'd have to deal with infection or further risk of death, and had to relearn how to do literally everything now that he was half blind, and he did all of it. He survived, and he thrived. He relearned how to walk, how to balance, his spatial awareness. He learned how to fought and even became incredibly good at it, and maintained his bond with Vhagar, as well as trying to keep himself mentally sharp as well. He did all of that, despite the huge setback he was dealt with at age ten. That's brave, go Aemond.

[daylander1000]

Will you watch season 2 of HotD or you've lost interest in the show? I wasn't thrilled with season 1, but I do like some characters and I'm curious to see if they'll do them any justice in the next season(s). I'm still trying to be optimistic (which is definitely against my nature 😁), although the latest leaks from Spain (which I desperately hope to be false) doesn't sound promising.

Idk it you read Fire & Blood, but that book is often overrated imho, almost all the characters there are painfully one-dimensional, shallow and bland, while the plot is full of illogical things (especially the Dance part) . So, as you can see, I'm not the biggest book fan, and I do believe that the show did some things better and gave a bit of depth and complexity to certain characters and fleshed them out. However, at the same time it seems to me that they didn't complete what they started, like, you see the potential of the characters and understand their motivations, but then out of the blue they do or say something totally nonsensical and OOC. Take Alicent at the end of episode 8. Rhaenyra says something nice to her and she suddenly forgives everything and forgets that's the same woman who wanted to "sharply question" Aemond after her son Luke maimed him over an insult (a fact, actually), the woman her husband always favoured at the expense of Alicent's own children and finally, the woman who is married to Daemon, the sociopath who hates Alicent and her children and who will kill anyone (and apparently with Rhaenyra and Viserys' blessing) without remorse if it benefits him and his side. I mean, the guy even had the gall to look annoyed during the prayer for Vaemond. Still, according to the show, Alicent somehow needs to "misunderstand" Viserys' last words to crown her own son, and not because it's probably the only way to keep her and her children alive and safe and because her son actually has the strongest claim to the throne according to Westerosi laws avd tradition. And don't get me started on the Velaryons who are collectively depicted as "Dae and Rhae fan club". Like, what is Corlys even thinking?! I won't ask about Baela and Rhaena because they obviously don't get to think and are just unconditionally supportive of Rhaenyra and the Strong boys. Rhaenys is contradictory and inconsistent. It's frustrating, really. Also, the fact that the narrative/the framing of the show heavily favours team black is also off-putting. Nevertheless, I'm still curious and just a bit hopeful that season 2 will balance these things a little. Maybe I'll just be terribly disappointed, but oh well. Sorry for the rant :D

Anyway, as a fan of your fic, I would like to know your opinion. Does the show deserve our optimism and what are your predictions regarding season 2?

S2 predictions? 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

Why would you ask me this? This is a show where someone in a professional HBO writers room said, "So what if a dragon just bursts up from the underground?" And the showrunner was like "Fuck yeah!"

I don't think they even thought to do a camera pan of the carnage. It's like they wanted to make Rhaenys look badass but did a Koolaid Man scene instead.

Tell me that this isn't Rhaenys

Predictions? This is not Leftovers where you could do a whole video essay on foreshadowing and subtext and hidden clues. This is a series where there's a horse running loose in a writer's room and nobody knows what it's going to write next.

This is the most bizarre thing I've ever seen.

My prediction for S2 is that during the time off at least one person realizes that they failed to make Aegon into Joff 2.0, that instead of having him be affably evil, he's onscreen affable and offscreen evil, and they'll try to double down on actually showing that he's evil and actually showing that he's worse than Daemon and Rhaenyra.

We've seen Daemon in brothels, grooming and marrying children, killing Rhea, killing innocent people and murdering lords at court, but we've only been told (by very minor characters) that Aegon is a baby-eating rape monster. It's all extremely "tacked-on."

I think Aegon's the biggest problem that they have to work on. Just getting at least this one character to make sense moving forward.

When Jahaerys is killed, I think they'll use that to really commit to making him the bad guy. Like he'll have to be killing a baby or raping someone or eating someone so that it's not Rhaenyra and Daemon killing a child but "Look at what this bad man was doing instead of protecting his son."

As far as predictions go, that's all I can see. If they only develop one character in S2, it needs to be him. Rhaenyra has Rockstar!Daemon, Rhaenys and Corlys on her side, so they'll have to upscale the green threat otherwise it's a bunch of grown people and veteran soldiers fighting two children who have no experience at anything because the oldest one is a 20-year-old frat boy and his brother is still a teenager. Aegon's going to have to really be villainous.

I feel like there's a reason all his nude scenes are with his mother, it's one of the few consistent things between them through the time skips and actor changes, and I feel like they're going to go fully 500% in that Commodus direction

and have him just be creepy and rapey with her in a "bad incest," how-the-turntables, "be careful what you wish for" way. Alicent's defining trait seems to be "perpetual victim," so I feel like they'll go this way and frame it as if she's getting what she deserves for slapping him around. Ten extra points if they have Rhaenyra or Rhaenys there on hand to be like "Is this your king?"

I don't see them doing anything with Rhaena besides sending her away, and I actively don't want to see Baela going out there getting her dragon killed and her face burnt off in defense of Rhaenyra.

I honestly try to not think about s2 of this.

I was a hardcore asoiaf fan but I didn't like Feast or Dance. I read Dunk and Egg, but he didn't finish that either. And when F&B came out, I got the audiobook and I listened to it for a few hours, probably less than five, and I couldn't concentrate because I kept thinking "Did this bitch seriously package his story notes as a novel for sale??? This is an insult to storytelling."

And I deleted it.

It's the quality for one thing. It's the lack of diversity, it's the author not finishing anything, it's the fandom being 20% fantasy fans, 80% trump rally...

Like, in just 10 episodes HotD has managed to give a voice to pro-rape feminists. Didn't even know that was a thing until I saw it on Twitter.

I saw some of the leaked pics of Helaena at the funeral on my feed, didn't have to scroll far to see people just casually r-wording Helaena and acting like having six fingers is a killing offense since eugenics rhetoric is apparently thriving in this fandom.

And on top of all that, the story doesn't even make sense.

I don't want to be like "dramaturgically speaking" but narrative coherence is a thing. Just from bing chat (yes, I'm using bing 😣):

Narrative coherence is the degree to which a story makes sense. Coherent stories are internally consistent, with sufficient detail, strong characters, and free of significant surprises. The ability to assess coherence is learned and improves with experience. Individuals assess a story's adherence by comparing it with similar stories. The ultimate test of narrative sense is whether the characters act reliably. If figures show continuity throughout their thoughts, motives, and actions, acceptance increases. However, characters behaving uncharacteristically destroy acceptance.

This show has curb-stomped narrative coherence.

Like, take that scene where they killed Vaemond. The way they write it, Rhaenyra has come back after 6 years of never visiting her father to drag him off his deathbed so he can support her in taking Driftmark, the seat of house Velaryon, away from Velaryon people to give it to her son by Harwin Strong. Vaemond is killed for telling the truth.

With different lighting and music, that's peak tyranny. That's some Mad King Aerys shit. In full view of all the lords at court. Every single person in that courtroom is aware that Luke is a bastard and they've just witnessed a lord like themselves get beheaded over it. This isn't Daemon killing commoners. He's killing the lords and ladies of Westeros.

But there's no fallout. Nothing. All the lords of Westeros cease to matter. It's just another Tuesday to them.

Hell, they go even further and frame the scene like Viserys is Old Theoden fighting off the curse of Wormtongue. Otto, Alicent and her goblin children all but shrivel and wither from the sunlight that Rhaenyra brings as Vaemond is cut down by noble Daemon. In that scene, Dark Sister might as well be Andúril, Flame of Old Valyria, sword of justice.

There are shows that are easy to watch that we say are "no brain cells required," but HotD is like, "No brain cells allowed. Switch them off or put them on silent so you don't disturb anyone."

I have no hope for season 2. I would never rec this to anyone or say that I think the writing will improve. The foundation is shit. You can't build a strong s2 on a shit s1 unless you're writing a procedural or an anthology where nothing that comes before matters.

You can't undo things like Alicent supporting Aegon as king because of a misunderstanding. There's a limit to how many things you can retcon without destroying all sense of continuity and they've already gone beyond that in s1.

They're past plot holes. They have whole parts of the world that are just void of all thought. Alicent and Rhaenys are characters who respawn and disintegrate from scene to scene as needed. Corlys is three lines of dialogue in a trenchcoat. Daemon Targaryen is somehow, impossibly, a less-developed Damon Salvatore.

No optimism here.

I'm that jaded ex fan who's like, "hotd is a barren wasteland, riddled with racists, ableists and toxic stans, and those are just the writers. The very fandom air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten-thousand Lindelof-level writers could they fix this shit."

But that being said, I have a really bad habit of watching shit TV.

I've seen Catwoman more than 5 times.

Waterworld, Jonah Hex, Elektra, Daredevil (Ben Affleck and Colin Farrell), Battlefield Earth, Supernova. At least 8 of the Fast movies. All the Transformers. Dracula 2000. All the old school classics of bad cinema.

I haven't watched Morbius as yet and the only reason why is because I feel like Jared Leto is intentionally trying to become Nicholas Cage and I don't want to support that.

There is something about the cringe that hooks me. And with a TV series? That weekly cringe? That is peak entertainment.

It used to take me 4 sometimes 5 hours to watch and digest a single episode of Titans because there were so many questions to think about.

I hyperfixate on bad writing. Trying to figure out all the ways it went wrong and why and what they were trying to do. Once I start, I can't stop thinking about it. I'm hoping swhhw gets it out of my system, but I don't know.

Like, anybody can make good TV. Anybody can do that if you try hard enough. But truly horrible TV isn't supposed to exist. It's like 20 million an episode to make HotD? Nobody is supposed to invest that in a show where the showrunner doesn't even know how old the characters are. Bad TV shows are supposed to be snuffed out before they see the light of day.

But HotD is something special.

You don't accidentally end up with a Koolaid Dragon busting up through concrete. A director described that scene to a VFX crew. The actors had to rehearse that repeatedly. They had to do a read-through...

Like, just think about that.

And then they announce that they're going ahead with s2 without writers?!

That is insane. Part of me says look away, and the other part of me says that s2 of HotD will be something the likes of which I'll never see again.

I really don't want to watch S2, but honestly, I might. Not because I think it will be better but because I'm dead certain it can only get worse.

[gojuo]

Usurper… started the war…. REALLY started the war

Rhaenyra officially started the Dance when she rejected Aegon’s more than generous peace terms and said “I will have my throne or my half-brother’s head”. This was the declaration of war. She had the chance to make peace and prevent war from breaking out and then she didn’t. Cry all you want, Rhaenyra started it officially.

and then stole all the money out of the coffers

You are coping so fucking bad 😭😭😭 He’s king. He’s in King’s Landing. The coffers are his. He listens to his council and utilizes a war tactic that works in his favor. Stop coping.

she wants her birthright

It’s not her “birthright”, or else she would have been heir the day she was born, like Baelon was, instead of needing to be appointed in a ceremony where the nobility validated the act through an oath made at swordpoint. She is the “chosen heir”. If you want to be annoying on my post, at least get your terminology right.

you want a rapist on the throne

And he wasn’t a rapist in the book, so now what? The show is a joke to me, so don’t even bring that garbage show-only canon in here.

more than a woman and I would just ask myself…. why?

Hmmmm, let’s see... Because Rhaenyra was a monarch who put her personal pleasure and desire ahead of the realm and its laws, maybe? Because the power of the Iron Throne was only ever a vehicle for her to use to satisfy her fancies and caprices and nothing more? Because her most infamous act as Princess of Dragonstone that bespoke of her indifference to the laws governing the realm she claimed as hers was her brazen affair of which she tried to pass off three obvious bastards as trueborn princes? This did not only speak of the extent of Rhaenyra’s belief of her own supreme power that (she thought) allowed her to claim unprecedented privilege by getting her boys acknowledged as trueborn heirs based on her own say so, but also showed her willingness to flout the law and jeopardize the integrity of the line of succession for the sake of her own pleasure. Which was also an outright invitation for a future succession war even without the Dance happening. No one was ever going to accept the throne being passed to an obvious bastard while trueborn male heirs to Viserys lived. Not the Westerosi nobility, not Rhaenyra’s brothers, not even Daemon who assuredly would have pushed for his two sons’ rights over the three Strong boys. This decision on Rhaenyra’s part was a civil war waiting to happen, one way or another. The fact that she thought she could get away with it and that everyone would accept her kids’ parentage on her word is a testament of a despotic view of her power and what allowances it gave her, and a clear statement of her disregard of the laws governing Westeros.

Of this inherently destabilizing act of pushing bastards as trueborns came two instances that set the tone of Rhaenyra’s behavior when it came to covering her treason, and emphasized her dismissal of the law as something that didn’t apply to her: first she demands her brother Aemond, all of 10 years old at the time and freshly mutilated by her son, be tortured just to make a statement about her intolerance of the “rumors” of her sons’ parentage. You know the deal. I'm not gonna dwell on it.

Then came the instance of when Laena and Laenor were both dead and the question of the succession of Driftmark came about. Rhaenyra urged Corlys to name Lucerys the heir to Driftmark, except, you know, Lucerys was not actually a Velaryon so he didn’t have any right to the Velaryon inheritance, no matter how Rhaenyra insisted otherwise. When Vaemond, Corlys' nephew, objected and argued that Driftmark should pass to him because Rhaenyra’s children were bastards, Rhaenyra had Daemon seize Vaemond and with no trial or due process, had him beheaded and fed his body to Syrax, an atrocity that was later compounded when Vaemond’s brothers went to Viserys with their families to ask for justice and press their claim, only for the king to have their tongues removed, every single one of them, based on his previous edict that he’d remove the tongue of anyone who spoke of the Strong rumors. That’s a gross mockery of justice and law, an infringement on the rights enjoyed by nobles, and a blatant show that Rhaenyra thought she could do whatever she wanted, even illegally seizing and murdering a noble with no trial. How very Aerys II of her.

Those are, unequivocally, the actions of a tyrant that also show what an awful political actor Rhaenyra was. Why should I want her on the throne? Her actions during the Dance and her short tenure as half-year Queen only damned her further on both accounts. Even at the height of her victory, her vengeance and whims proved her to be an appalling leader and ultimately led to her losing any legitimacy she could have claimed when her actions led to the smallfolk of King’s Landing storming the Dragonpit in a clear rejection of her rule (and, before you get your panties in a twist, Aegon’s as well), and to even her most loyal noble allies deserting her. I’m not gonna get into it too much because this is getting too long as well as already having talked about it a little in the above. What Rhaenyra did as half-year Queen was strategically and politically prolonging the war in pursuit of personal vengeance and ignored every single counsel of war-ending efforts Corlys gave her. As Queen, Rhaenyra actively rejected any attempt of peace talks and chose vengeance instead.

Rhaenyra herself appointed Lady Rosby’s and Lady Stokesworth’s younger brothers as heirs over them, and previously usurped Baela/Rhaena’s claim to Driftmark through her son Lucerys. She says it herself: Rhaenyra is the exception to the rule, and no one else will have what she has. So get your pseudo-feminist rhetoric and holier-than-thou attitude out of here. Unlike the majority of this garbage show’s viewership, I am not here to self-insert into any Targ woman to live out a pitiful power fantasy or watch football and see my “team” win the throne. I have maintained this stance from the second TPATQ dropped back in 2013 and no matter how many pro-Greens post you see on my blog, it will never change the fact that the moral of the Dance of the Dragons is that the only thing Targaryens are good at is killing each other and destroying themselves. Neither Rhaenyra nor Aegon were deserving of that throne, and it was for the better that they both died. They plunged the realm they claimed the right to rule over into two years of nuclear war over a petty fight of who gets to seat their pasty ass on an ugly chair, and they got what they deserved. Rhaenyra and Aegon both dead.

Now go be an annoying little white feminist with rudimentary understanding of feminist theory living vicariously through your white supremacist lizard faves on someone else’s post. You’re blocked.

https://www.tumblr.com/gojuo/717844532167884800?source=share

They will literally portray Rhaenyra's tyranny as she was unjustly framed that way by the greens and the historians lmaoo what did I expected from Hollywood? Females characters can no longer be villains

Yeah to be honest I can already see this thought process forming in TB stans, however Rhaenyra:

publicly endorsed Blood and Cheese by never denouncing Daemon and Mysaria, practically sanctioning the act even if she didn't order it

put a blockade on the Gullet and Blackwater Bay to ice out the Greens in King's Landing, which meant that the smallfolk in the city were being starved by her

decorated the walls of the Red Keep with severed heads daily

sent out knights inquisitors on the smallfolk of King's Landing over the whereabouts of Jaehaera and Maelor

put a bounty on Jaehaera (6 years old) and Maelor (2 years old)

she taxed the smallfolk of King's Landing who had already been starving because of her blockade, who had been suffering through 2 years of war which she refused to end, who were suffering through winter, all to throw lavish parties to celebrate the installation of Joffrey as Prince of Dragonstone

she ordered Lord Mooton to violate guest right in order to execute Nettles for sleeping with her husband

she ordered for Addam of Hull to be executed for the crime of being a bastard

she ordered for Daemon to be jailed for cheating on her

she ordered for Corlys to be jailed and executed for defending Addam

she didn't tax the nobles or took out loans from the Iron Bank. She taxed the commoners of King's Landing in order to throw a party while the war was still going on

These are all objective facts about the things she did. The show can twist and bend canon all they like in order to whitewash her — which I'm sure it will — but these cannot be blamed on "Green propaganda" because these deeds are all objectively and without bias things she did and said in F&B with her own two hands and mouth.

[lemonhemlock]

I actually deeply dislike that Alicent continued to try and maintain peace with Rhaenyra after Aemond lost his eye. I think the writers should have made it a pivotal moment, where the blacks don’t care about it and continue as they always do, but the greens have decided, it’s going to be all or nothing. I think the blacks not even noticing any change would have been absolutely a great moment to characterize the difference between the blacks and the greens

Hello and thank you for your ask! They could have done a better job by highlighting how conflicted Alicent is over this situation. After the maiming scene, it's implied they have not seen each other for six years, during which Alicent has turned to religion in order to repent for her (understandable) breakdown. When she regains clarity, she realises retributive justice isn't the way to go and turns to prayer to achieve some feeling of absolution. But, at the same time, she doesn't come across as someone who has forgiven Rhaenyra for how she handled herself either.

I think Alicent remains a kindhearted person despite becoming more neurotic over the years due to stress. Although it is implied she is regretful, I think she would have stuck to the plan and awarded Driftmark to Vaemond.

However, Viserys' walk changed everything IMO. He was a bad husband to her and a bad father to her children, but seeing him suffer through so much pain all these years, basically rotting while he was still alive, losing an eye, losing part of his cheek.... that is a very extreme and prolonged illness, so religious, merciful, compassionate Alicent might have reassessed the situation and considered that the gods themselves have punished Viserys enough, so there was no need from her part to be a bitch about it.

When Viserys literally dragged his decaying husk to the Throne to save Rhaenyra, I wouldn't say Alicent was pleased about it, but you could see that a lot of characters were impressed. It's hard not to be moved by a father's love for his daughter so publicly on display, regardless of past mistakes or grievances. It's a very humanizing moment for Viserys. So I could see her thinking that, even though Viserys never loved her or her children like that, he was a limited person but not incapable of altruim and self-sacrifice (to a certain degree) and, that, in his limited understanding of his family dynamics, he was genuinely trying to "set things right".

Of course, it was a complete miscalculation of several aspects: how he actually came across to his green children, how it was an abuse of power to House Velaryon, what a shit-show Rhaenyra's reign was going to be.... but that was the best thing his addled mind could come up with and perhaps Alicent genuinely appreciated the tangible humanity behind this attempt, both during the petition and at dinner.

After that, Rhaenyra's apology really solidified these feelings inside an already-mollified Alicent. The possibility of reconciliation was maybe not out of the question if Rhaenyra had returned to KL like she had planned and they could have hard a proper talk, airing out all their grievances. But, of course, Viserys had to die on that very night and the political reality and very real threats came crashing down on Alicent and she had to act quickly and decisively.

They definitely could have gone with ambitious!Alicent, like in the books, and it would have been justifiable and great, but I also personally like this reading as well. We already have the ruthless Dowager Queen typology in Cersei and now Alicent has this further dimension that sets her apart and makes her her own character.

That being said, the show did wiffle-waffle on Viserys's last words being misunderstood. They should have given Alicent a better trigger than the confused words of a dying man. A conversation with Otto in which they both discuss Rhaenyra's failures as a political actor so far and her faulty judgement would have gone a long way to explain why Alicent went against Viserys despite having been receptive to Rhaenyra earlier at dinner.

[aebi12]

Sinful Desires - Chapter 3

By Aebi12

Alyssa is still visibly shaken when they arrive at her mother's quarters.

"Perhaps it would be best if you lie down for a while," Rhaenyra proposes, noticing her pale face.

"No, no, I am fine. Is just that… was it really necessary to cause such a grotesque spectacle?” she directs her question to her stepfather, who is cleaning up Dark Sister without a hint of remorse, as if he hadn't decapitated a man just a few minutes ago.

"Vaemond Velaryon insulted your mother in front of her subjects and called all of you bastards, do you think I overstepped?"

“I do not question your reasons, uncle, I just think you should have let the king's justice deal with sir Vaemond. The throne room was hardly the place for such a bloody execution."

"I didn't know you were so delicate, Alyssa," he replies with a smirk.

Alyssa opens her mouth to reply, but her mother interrupts them.

"Enough, both of you", Rhaenyra looks worried despite the fact that the outcome of the hearing was favorable to her. Alyssa assumes it was partly due to the excitement of seeing her father go to such lengths to ascend the iron throne to champion for her cause.

The girl sighs, looking away from her stepfather, and there is an awkward silence until Jace clears his throat

"Mother, Baela and I wish to take a walk around the fortress"

"Fine, but someone will have to escort you"

Alyssa is not the only one who is surprised by her mother's response.

“Surely a chaperone will not be necessary” says Baela

"Yes, it is. I don't want anyone questioning the bride’s virtue or accusing the heir of inappropriate behaviors," Rhaenyra retorts.

Baela and Jace giggle as they look at each other. For a moment, Alyssa had forgotten that her siblings were now engaged to Baela and Rhaena.

“I can go with them,” she proposes, “I could use some fresh air.”

“Yes, do that. And remember my father wants us all to have dinner together, so don’t be late."

The three of them leave the rooms and Alyssa gives the newly engaged couple a chance to walk a few steps ahead of her.

Despite not having seen each other in years, Jace and Baela have clearly connect quite well. Her brother is visibly pleased with the engagement, and Alyssa is not surprised by this. Baela is a very beautiful young woman and funny too, judging by the laughter she provokes in her brother.

A pang of discomfort runs through Alyssa as she gazes at the image of Jace and his fiancée. The news of their engagement had taken her by surprise, her mother hadn't even consulted her brothers about the idea and now they were both one step closer to getting married. And to leave her.

Her Jace. Her Luke.

Alyssa sighs and follows the couple into the gardens, but she soon loses sight of them. And she honestly prefers it that way.

Heading in the opposite direction, Alyssa follows the sound of giggling and babbling. Soon the path of bushes opens up to a small square where two little children with platinum hair are playing under the watchful eye of a maid and Helaena Targaryen.

“Helaena”, she greets approaching her aunt.

“Alyssa Velaryon”, she replies with a kind smile.

"And who do we have here?" asks the black-haired girl as she stands at the children's level

“These are Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, my children”

“I did not know you were a mother,” Alyssa admits, surprised at the news

"I got married a few years ago, to Aegon," Helaena nods.

Aegon, of course. Alyssa had never had much of a relationship with Aegon, and though she had seen him at the audience this morning, she hadn't particularly noticed him.

The girl stands up and walks over to the stone bench where her aunt is sitting. Once next to her, she notices that Helaena has a ladybug in her hand and watches it with fascination.

“Your children are adorable,” she comments

"They are my best gift" she answers caringly.

Alyssa takes the opportunity to observe her aunt.

Helaena had always struck her as a pretty girl, with her long, fine eyes, her straight nose, and her kind smile. In her adulthood, she maintains the same traits and continues to convey that sense of calm and tranquility that Alyssa had recognized in her since she was a child.

"Are you engaged too, Alyssa, like your brothers?" Helaena suddenly asks

"Me? No, no" she laughs.

"I'm glad," Helaena replies, "There's nothing special about being married."

Alyssa doesn't know what to say to that. Fortunately, the maid approaches them.

“The sun is too strong this morning, princess. Perhaps it would be better for the children and for you if we return to the palace."

"Maybe you are right," Helaena agrees, standing up, "Enjoy your walk, Alyssa."

She says goodbye to Helaena, who takes one of the little ones by her hand while the maid takes the other.

The image, for some reason, makes Alyssa feel melancholy.

 ***

Their paths cross again.

But this time by a complete coincidence.

Alyssa Velaryon has her eyes closed and her face upturned to the sky, a grin on her beautiful features.

Seldom has Aemond seen a more beautiful spectacle. An involuntary smile forms on his lips as he approaches his niece.

“Making the most of the good weather?” he asks softly, resisting the urge to run a finger over her cheek.

She jumps in fright upon hearing his voice and immediately opens her eyes.

"Are you following me?" she asks accusingly as she stands up and takes a few steps back.

Aemond raises one of his eyebrows and looks at her with amusement. “I was looking for my sister. It turns out this is usually her favorite place when she takes a walk”

“She just left,” Alyssa replies.

Aemond nods, “Hmm. I'd better go find her then."

“And I should go find my brother,” she nods as she nervously scratches her arm with her other hand.

But neither of them takes the first step out of the garden.

Aemond continues to looking at her and Alyssa holds his gaze, caught in the deep blue of his good eye.

She doesn't know how to explain it, but there is a sudden change in the atmosphere, a change that perhaps is due to the fact that they are both aware that they are alone in that place. And a change between the two of them, in the way he looks at her, in the way that a magnetic force seems to have progressively taken over her body and pushes her closer to him.

Alyssa swallows and takes a few steps in his direction. He does the same and soon they are facing each other. She's tall, but he's even taller, so she looks up to properly study his appearance. His face of angular features, his curved nose, his pronounced jaw… hard features that somehow only makes him more attractive.

And his lips. Alyssa feels the sudden urge to trace them with her fingers, but she restrains herself.

Her heart begins to pound so hard that she places her hand on her chest, a move not lost on him. And when Aemond looks into her eyes again, Alyssa thinks she recognizes a fire in them that surely, he also sees in her because that's how she feels at that moment. Ablaze.

A bird chirps loudly in the distance and the momentary bubble in which they had been submerged breaks. Alyssa clears her throat and steps back, her sanity washing over her mind again and reproaching her for her actions from a moment ago.

"Meet me tonight," she hears Aemond say.

"What?" she looks at him, disbelief painted in her eyes

"After the hour of the owl" he continues, "I'll be waiting for you in our usual place"

Aemond doesn't give her time to answer because he turns his back on her and strides out of the garden.

***

Her mother is wearing a green dress.

“That's a… bold choice,” Alyssa comments as she finishes securing her long braid with a silver hair clip.

"It seemed appropriate for the occasion," Rhaenyra says as she approaches her daughter, "My father wants a peaceful night with all his family and I plan to give him exactly that."

Her mother's words seem to hide a deeper meaning that Alyssa interprets as a farewell. And honestly, it's not surprising, considering how weak Viserys is these days.

“Should I wear something similar too? Truth to be told, I don't think I have anything green”

"No, it is not necessary. You are perfect as you are now"

Rhaenyra stands behind her daughter and they both look into the mirror. Alyssa is wearing a silver dress, typical Velaryon color and a silver necklace with small sapphires that is her favorite.

"My only daughter is already a woman" Rhaenyra sighs, looking at her with nostalgia.

"I will always be your little girl if you prefer it that way" Alyssa replies turning to face her mother, hugging her and placing her face on her chest, as she did when she was a child.

“I wouldn't wish for anything more than that,” Rhaenyra smiles as she strokes her hair, “But time passes and you and your brothers keep growing and you'll forge your own paths soon, you'll have your own families, too.”

For some reason her mother's words manage to make her nervous. Her stomach clenches in a knot because talk of marriage is the last thing Alyssa wants to hear right now, but her mother doesn't seem to notice her mortification.

“As beautiful as you are,” Rhaenyra continues, “you won't be short of suitors.”

Alyssa breaks the hug with her mother and seeks her gaze, "Surely is too soon to talk about that, don't you think mother?"

Rhaenyra smirks and takes her daughter's face in her hands.

“At your age, I was not fond of the idea of ​​getting married either,” she admits, “But we're princesses, Alyssa. It is our duty to ensure the continuity of our house”

But you already have Jace and Luke for that, is what Alyssa wants to say, but instead she replies, "When the time comes, I can decide who I marry… right?"

Her mother would surely give her that option. After all, she herself had gone against her father's wishes and ended up marrying Daemon.

"Mother?" she insists waiting for an answer, “If I have to get married, I want it to be with someone of my choosing. I know you did not choose Laenor, but you always say that your union was a happy one. And now you have the same with Daemon, so you will also make sure that it is my case right?”

Alyssa doesn't need an answer other than the sad expression on her mother's face to understand what Rhaenyra dares not to tell her.

Her situations are not the same.

Yes, they're both princesses, but while Rhaenyra is the heir to the Iron Throne, Alyssa is just a second born daughter. Her mother has many more privileges and freedom when choosing her consort because she will be queen one day, while Alyssa will have to serve her house, surely being used as exchange in some alliance that benefits her mother’s future reign.

"Let's not think about that yet," Rhaenyra says placing a kiss on Alyssa's forehead, "Now, come on, they must be waiting for us"

Her mother cuts off the conversation, and Alyssa has no choice but to keep quiet and follow her out of her room.

***

Dinner only makes her mood worsen.

If she had any expectations of having a good time that night, those vanished as soon as she entered the room where almost everyone was already gathered.

Sitting between her brothers and their new fiancées, Alyssa finds herself lonelier than ever as Jace and Luke are absorbed in smiling and chatting with her cousins.

Even Aemond is ignoring her that night.

Sitting at the other end of the table, dressed entirely in black and with a posture that denotes his tension, her uncle has not looked at her once.

His good eye, that eye that had stared at her so intently that morning, is now fixed on Helaena of all people. Alyssa sips some wine from her glass and bites her tongue harder than necessary, annoyed at the attention Aemond isn't giving her.

But her annoyance turns to rage and disbelief when he speaks up to toast about his strong nephews. The insult, disguised as polite words, does not go unnoticed by anyone in the room. And Jace explodes. And suddenly Luke is being dominated by Aegon and the illusion of peace that seemed to exist is gone.

Daemon steps between Aemond and his stepsons and there is a brief exchange of glances. Rhaenyra intervenes as well and sends her children to their rooms. Alyssa wants to protest, eager to know what will happen next, but Jace takes her hand and leads her out of the room.

The three Velaryon brothers walk in silence toward Jace's room. Once there, Alyssa asks a maid to bring her water, cloths, and ointment for Luke.

"You shouldn't have fallen for his provocations" she reproaches them while she wipes her twin's face. A bruise clearly starting to form near his left temple.

"I couldn't allow him to continue making fun of us", Jace replies.

"And do you think you managed to do that with attitude tonight?" she glares at him, “The king himself advocated for Luke today, he affirmed our legitimacy and our rights. A few words from Aemond won't change anything."

"He's always been an idiot," Luke interjects.

Alyssa sighs and smears the ointment on his forehead, causing her brother to wince.

"Maybe it would be a good idea for you to drink milk of the poppy tonight," she proposes.

"It was just a punch, I can take it," Luke replies, clearly offended by the proposal.

“As you wish,” she puts the ointment on the table and stands up, “I better go back to my room. You two do the same and stay out of trouble tonight."

Jace waves her hand dismissively before wishing her good night.

***

Alyssa enters her room, takes off her heavy dress and undoes the braids, releasing her voluminous hair. A throbbing pain seems to be building up in her head.

Or maybe it's just the result of the disastrous dinner.

With a sigh she gets into her bed, but she can't sleep. While she moves uneasily between the sheets, the hours pass and she is fully aware that he is waiting for her under the weirwood, just like before.

But Alyssa doesn't even think of going to meet him.

***

"I still don't understand why they were so upset about your toast", says Helaena looking at him with innocence painted on her face, "You said very nice things about them"

Aegon lets out an amused chuckle from beside her.

For the first time in a long time, the three of them are together in the room that their older siblings have shared since they got married.

"I think you were brilliant, Aemond" says his brother while drinking a glass of wine, "You put those brats in their place"

Aemond clenches his fists. Rage had taken over him tonight, wreaking havoc on his family.

It was meant to be this way no matter what, says the voice inside his head. That whole dinner was just a charade.

"Mother seemed positively distraught," Aegon continues, smirking at him.

A pang of discomfort rises in Aemond. He hadn't wanted to upset Alicent, but he hadn't put up with Lucerys's insolence. He would have to talk to his mother in the morning.

Aegon continues to try to provoke him with his comments, but when Aemond doesn't respond, he ends up standing up and announcing his leaving.

Neither Helaena nor he asks where he is going. They both know very well that the night is just beginning for their brother. Helaena seems relieved to see him leave, her gaze drifting to the other side of the room, where the children are already asleep.

"I'm leaving too" says Aemond after a few moments.

"Be careful tonight," Helaena replies, her gaze lost somewhere in the room.

"Why…?"

"Just be careful. Desire and pain often come together," she continues dreamily.

Aemond sighs. His sister doesn't seem to notice his presence anymore, so he kisses her on the top of her head and leaves her room.

***

Aemond hasn't visited the godswood in years, but still he has no trouble finding the exact place where they used to meet when they were kids.

She hasn't arrived yet so he leans against the weirwood, prepared to wait for her.

Only the hour of the owl is almost over and it is clear that Alyssa Velaryon will not come to meet him.

For the second time that night, rage corrodes Aemond's body.

For the second time that night, a Velaryon thinks they can taunt him.

And Aemond won't permit it.

Ignoring the rational voice in his head that yells that it's a bad idea, he strides toward Alyssa's room.

Only this time he's not content to just stare at the door.

This time Aemond Targaryen enters the room without even announcing himself and closes the door behind him.

[kellyvela]

That scene with Vaemond being murdered in court for speaking out about being robbed of their ancestral home was a sign of things to come for everyone. Don’t seek justice in Rhaenyra’s reign. No rules apply to them and they will continue to do as they wish and violently silence anyone who speaks the truth. I think there would have been a war even without the Greens. The Blacks created an environment where they gave anyone disenfranchised multiple justifications for rebellion against the Targs.

Vaemond's fate was worse in F&B:

That same year, across Blackwater Bay, the Sea Snake was stricken by a sudden fever. As he took to his bed, surrounded by maesters, the issue arose as to who should succeed him as Lord of the Tides and Master of Driftmark should the sickness claim him. With both his trueborn children dead, by law his lands and titles should pass to his eldest grandson, Jacaerys…but since Jace would presumably ascend the Iron Throne after his mother, Princess Rhaenyra urged her good-father to name instead her second son, Lucerys. Lord Corlys also had half a dozen nephews, however, and the eldest of them, Ser Vaemond Velaryon, protested that the inheritance by rights should pass to him…on the grounds that Rhaenyra’s sons were bastards sired by Harwin Strong. The princess was not slow in answering this charge. She dispatched Prince Daemon to seize Ser Vaemond, had his head removed, and fed his carcass to her dragon, Syrax.

Even this did not end the matter, however. Ser Vaemond’s younger cousins fled to King’s Landing with his wife and sons, there to cry for justice and place their claims before the king and queen. King Viserys had grown extremely fat and red of face, and scarce had the strength to mount the steps to the Iron Throne. His Grace heard them out in a stony silence, then ordered their tongues removed, every one. “You were warned,” he declared, as they were being dragged away. “I will hear no more of these lies.”

And you are right, there will always be war with Targaryens in the Iron Throne. F&B is a book full of wars and rebellions against them and between them.

[queenvhagar]

Hello,

I saw your “the HOTD characters, the GOT characters the writers are trying to mold them into, and the GOT characters they actually most resemble in the books” take and I have a few questions if you don’t mind:

(Also, please bear with me if these are stupid questions, I haven’t read the books and I’ve only watched a few scenes of the show despite being involved/invested in the fandom hence how I got this info)

How does Alicent have a sense of honor, justice, and understanding of the laws especially if she tried to put her son on the throne?

And your part about Aegon, isn’t he also a rapist in the books? He sexually assaults women, including serving girls and members of the court.

I saw someone mention in the comment the parallel between Theon and Aegon by them both being passed over in favor of their sisters whose father favors over them. How was Aegon passed over if Rhaenyra was in line before him? And he acknowledged the fact that his sister’s throne was being usurped and showed he was reluctant to taking the throne and didn’t feel passed over.

Hi anon! Thanks for the question!

Alicent and honor, justice, and understanding of the laws:

Basically Alicent operates by what she believes is honor and justice, according to traditional Westerosi views of chivalry and the like. Basically, she tries to be the ideal noble lady. Be a good and faithful wife, raise your children, maintain relationships and appearances at court, advocate for your family and your children so they may have a secure future.

In terms of the laws, for thousands of years Westeros has adhered to agnatic primogeniture (as modeled off of real-world history): the right by law and custom of the firstborn legitimate son to inherit the father's title. Most recently, this was reinforced by the Council of 101 AC where the lords decided that Viserys would inherit over Rhaenys and her son's claim to the throne. Basically, all precedent says that the firstborn son should inherit, and it has been this way for generations to maintain stability in the realm.

The problem is Viserys named Rhaenyra before he had sons of his own and he failed to meaningfully reinforce her claim after he had his sons. According to the law and the precedent that made Viserys himself king, Viserys' firstborn son should be king after him. What we have in this case is an argument between the word of the king and the law of the land, which are not necessarily the same thing in this world, especially after the king dies. When the king is alive he can enforce his word, but afterward, it has less importance.

Had Rhaenyra wanted the throne, and to end this argument once and for all (or at least prevent any of her opposition from rallying behind Viserys' sons and pushing for them to rule instead of her, which could lead to war) she or someone on her side would have to exile or kill Viserys' sons for her claim to be the definitively best claim to the throne. This was was added into season 1 but apparently forgotten by the writers. Otto warned Alicent there could be war and her children were in danger. Alicent warned Aegon he was the challenge to Rhaenyra by living and breathing. Then the fears began to grow when Rhaenyra and her side showed they were not afraid to use violence to push for their own power: Aemond's eye was cut out and Rhaenyra offered him tortured to cover her own lies and protect herself politically, and Viserys didn't so much as admonish her children but instead threatened his sons and wife with mutilation if they spoke on it further. Laenor was murdered and Rhaenyra immediately remarried her uncle Daemon, who previously killed his first wife out of convenience and so he could seek a more politically advantageous match. Vaemond Velaryon was murdered to protect Rhaenyra's position (in the show, Daemon executed him from behind without warning for speaking the truth; in the book, Rhaenyra ordered Daemon to take his head and feed his remains to her dragon, and Viserys has other Velaryons' tongues ripped out for questioning Rhaenyra).

By the time Viserys died, Alicent had the backing of the legal and historical precedent, as well as motivation to protect her children from Rhaenyra and Daemon, to install Aegon as king, so she did. No misunderstanding of any prophecy anywhere in the books, as it should be (but the writers are afraid to write complex women with complex motivations out of fear of being seen as anti-feminist, which ironically results in them stripping women of their agency and anger, which is not very feminist at all).

Aegon in the books:

Aegon in the books is portrayed as leaning into the pleasures of life before being named king, drinking, propositioning ladies, yes, likely touching them or grabbing their butts and the like. Certainly not okay by our standards today and not okay for those women back then, though probably not out of the ordinary unfortunately for most highborn men and how women in this world were viewed.

The show however was very deliberate in inserting their original character as Aegon's very first appearance as an adult. Dyana does not exist in the books, nor do any accounts of Aegon violently overpowering servant girls for his pleasure. The vibe in the books is that he's drunk and horny and not that he's some predator. The only detail that might suggest some sadistic nature to Aegon is an account by Mushroom, Rhaenyra's court jester, who lived on Dragonstone with her for years before this point and was never in King's Landing to witness any such event (the child fighting pits detail). It's notable that the show doesn't use most of Mushroom's accounts because they are usually unnecessarily vulgar and raunchy (like him insisting he was there to see Daemon teach Rhaenyra how to pleasure him with her mouth and then Mushroom joined in, or Rhaenyra sent Alicent and Helaena to brothels for anyone to use as they pleased). However the writers decided to use Mushroom's account of Aegon because they clearly want to portray Aegon as this degenerate (as opposed to a flawless and righteous Rhaenyra).

As for when Aegon was crowned, at the Green Council, he was initially reluctant to take the throne when his father named Rhaenyra, as he likely did not feel suited for it or he did not want the responsibility of the position, preferring his own lifestyle. However, Criston Cole, Alicent, and Helaena, who were all present, convinced Aegon that if he did not take the throne, his family's lives could be in danger. This is what led to his choice to take the throne. The show makes points to heavily use the word usurpation to describe crowning Aegon, but in reality there were strong arguments that Aegon had the better claim in the first place, despite the previous king's words. The show also loves calling them the Hightowers despite them being Viserys' children and therefore Targaryens as much as Rhaenyra is (and the whole point is this is a civil war between a family - the Targaryens fighting each other).

[pulchramsolis]

[@kinslcyer sent]: [ panic ] for my muse to grab your arm or pull them behind mine in a moment of danger  memes memes all the time

It was a very strange thing, to look upon the king and for once see glimmers of the man she loved in him. Or perhaps it was the opposite, finding the possible source of some of the things she loved most about Aemond in a man that she did not see fit to be a father, let alone a king.

The louder Vaemond Velaryon's voice grew, the more agitated Abrogail became. She'd been in the shadowed room on Driftmark as Aemond suffered and the queen wept with rage as the king ignored those he should protect, for one that, as time passed, Abrogail did not feel deserved such protection. Not when Rhaenyra had spat on the memory of her beloved brother, and refused to take responsibility for things that she should.

It happened so fast: the king rose to his feet, drawing his catspaw dagger, and then she saw Daemon Targaryen draw his blade and swing.

Aemond's grip was immediate and tight as he pulled her into him, her face pressing against his chest, his body turned so he was between her and the bloody, gruesome sight that had members of the court shrieking. Panic settled in her chest and she burrowed deep into his chest, her whole form shaking and her fingers gripping his surcoat with a desperate touch.

Was this the sort of violence that would come when the king finally died? Would this be the sort of justice that would be wrought by Princess Rhaenyra and her husband?

"Aemond?" she whimpered, too afraid to lift her head. How she wished she could burrow inside of him, where he could keep them safe. "Oh gods."